OP  CALIF.  LIBRARY,  LOS  AIGELES 


Little  Lords  of 
Creation 


Little  Lords  of 
Creation 


H.  A.  KEAYS 


HERBERT  S.  STONE  &  COMPANY 

CHICAGO  &  NEW  YORK 

MDCCCC 


COPYRIGHT    igOO    BY 
HERBERT  S.  STONE  &.  CO. 


TO 

C.  H.  K. 


21307R7 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 


CHAPTER  I 

It  was  a  boy. 

And  really,  after  he  was  once  there, 
it  seemed  impossible  that  they  could 
ever  have  faced  the  prospect  of  his 
being  anything  else.  That  surprised 
them  a  good  deal  when  they  came  to 
think  of  it  seriously.  For  by  the  time 
he  was  an  hour  and  twenty-five  min- 
utes old,  they  were  fully  alive  to  the 
fact  that  he  might  have  been  a  girl. 
And  that  would  have  been — well,  dif- 
ferent. It  was  wonderful  what  a  nar- 
row escape  they  had  had.  And  they 
were  his  parents.  That  was  the  most 
extraordinary  thing  about  it  all. 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

There  was  suddenly  a  new  and  ex- 
quisite dignity  in  themselves  of  which 
they  had  never  dreamed  before.  Years 
of  feeling  separated  them  from  the 
yesterday  when  there  was  no  link  be- 
tween themselves  and 'posterity. 

By  the  time  the  baby  had  owned 
them  for  two  hours,  they  had  devel- 
oped a  profound  pity,  which  was  peril- 
ously like  contempt,  for  all  the  un- 
happy beings  who  had  no  babies. 

To  be  sure,  in  their  secret  hearts 
they  were  a  good  deal  surprised  at  his 
looks,  for  he  certainly  was  not  the 
infant  Adonis  they  had  every  right  to 
expect  their  child  to  be.  Any  man 
caught  loose  on  the  streets  with  such 
a  complexion  would  undoubtedly  have 
been  considered  "beery."  And  he 
had  discovered  how  to  make  the  most 
frightful  faces.  His  mother  grew  quite 
anxious  about  it.  At  last  she  plucked 
up  courage  to  say  cautiously  to  her 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

husband,  "Do  they  all  look  like  that, 
Douglas?" 

"I  don't  know,  I'm  sure,"  replied 
the  young  man,  thoughtfully.  "I 
never  saw  them  before." 

"Well,  I  don't  think  it  will  do  to 
let  him  keep  on  wrinkling  up  his  face 
like  that.  A  tendency  is  almost  cer- 
tain to  develop  into  a  fixed  habit  un- 
less it  is  checked  in  time,  you  know, 
Douglas." 

"I  should  think  it  might  be  due  to 
the  unaccustomed  action  of  the  air  on 
his  skin,"  said  Mr.  Bell.  "He'll 
probably  conquer  that  himself.  But 
we  can  ask  Mrs.  Coddle  about  his 
looks." 

"Like  most  other  babies?  Well,  I 
should  say  not!"  declared  Mrs.  Cod- 
dle, with  an  emphasis  which  terrified 
her  innocent  hearers;  and  then,  quite 
unaware  of  the  effect  she  was  creating, 
the  good  woman  paused  long  enough 
3 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

to  stick  nearly  a  whole  paper  of  safety- 
pins  all  over  the  baby  before  she  went 
on. 

"He's  just  about  as  much  like  'em, 
/  should  say,  as  chalk's  like  cheese." 

She  meant  to  say  a  good  deal  more, 
but  the  baby,  who  had  not  yet  recov- 
ered from  his  surprise  and  delight  at 
finding  himself  the  owner  of  a  voice, 
began  to  exercise  it  powerfully. 

"There  now!  Just  listen  to  them 
bellus!"  said  Mrs.  Coddle,  enthusias- 
tically, between  the  gusts. 

But  after  Mrs.  Bell  had  listened  to 
them  for  an  hour  or  two,  she  sent  to 
the  study  for  her  husband,  who  had 
been  snatching  a  nap  there  and  dream- 
ing that  ten  thousand  bands  were  play- 
ing the  same  tune  over  his  grave, 
each  in  a  different  key. 

"What  do  you  think  about  it, 
Douglas?"  she  asked,  tearfully. 

"Perhaps  he's  hungry!"  exclaimed 
4 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

his  father,  brilliantly,  after  some  mo- 
ments of  serious  thought. 

"Oh,  no!  He  really  isn't,"  said 
Mrs.  Bell,  earnestly.  "He  won't  be 
hungry — let  me  see — for  eleven  min- 
utes yet.  All  the  books  insist  you 
must  not  feed  him  too  often.  You 
know  we  must  begin  right  with  him, 
Douglas.  All  his  future  life  depends 
on  the  training  we  give  him  now. 
No,  don't  rock  him  or  hush  him,  Mrs. 
Coddle.  Why,  one  book  says  the 
smallest  babe  is  so  sensitive  to  the 
power  of  mind  and  environment,  that 
he  acts  just  as  the  people  about  him 
make  him  act." 

"  Fiddlesticks!"  remarked  Mrs. 
Coddle,  cheerfully.  "I'll  warrant  the 
person  that  wrote  that  never  lived 
under  the  same  roof  with  a  live  boy, 
or  he'd  never  have  called  him  a  babe. 
A  boy  ain't  a  babe,  nor  yet  some 
girls." 

5 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

About  noon,  Deacon  Creak,  driving 
back  to  his  farm  from  town,  stopped 
to  consult  his  pastor  about  some 
church  matters.  As  he  was  leaving, 
he  remarked  mildly: 

'^Child  cries  some." 

"Some!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Bell. 

That  remark  rankled  in  his  mind 
after  the  deacon  was  gone.  It  seemed 
to  imply  that  a  child  could  cry  more. 
It  opened  up  fearful  vistas  of  possi- 
bility. 

It  was  winter,  and  the  house  had 
double  windows,  but  that  did  not  pre- 
vent the  nearest  neighbor,  who  lived 
half  a  block  away,  from  coming  in 
some  hours  later,  to  say  that  she'd 
''like  to  see  the  child  she  couldn't 
quiet." 

She  went  away  after  awhile,  though, 
with  every  symptom  of  nervous  pros- 
tration, but  before  she  went  she  re- 
membered to  say:  "I  wouldn't  let 
6 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

him  cry  like  that  if  I  were  you.  He'll 
injure  himself." 

Then  Mr.  Bell  went  for  the  doctor. 
It  was  growing  dark  and  stormy,  and 
the  old  gentleman  was  quite  unwilling 
to  go  out  just  because  a  boy  cried, 
but  Mr.  Bell  put  the  case  to  him 
strongly.  This  was  all  the  more  try- 
ing, for  when  they  reached  the  house, 
a  mile  and  a  half  away,  Mrs.  Coddle 
met  them  at  the  door  with  her  finger 
on  her  lip. 

"He's  just  this  minute  fallen 
asleep,"  she  whispered,  reassuringly; 
"but  I  think  you'd  better  leave  some- 
thing to  quiet  Mrs.  Bell's  nerves,  Doc- 
tor." 

After  this,  whenever  they  sent  for 
him,  which  was  sometimes  once  and 
sometimes  two  or  three  times  a  day, 
the  doctor  was  always  either  out  or 
just  going  out  to  a  farm  ten  miles 
west  of  town,  or  else  he  couldn't  go 
7 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

out  at  all  on  account  of  an  imminent 
case  right  in  the  neighborhood,  or  he 
had  just  gone  to  bed  with  a  frightful 
chill.  But,  as  may  be  inferred,  he 
was  a  resourceful  man,  and  a  sleeping- 
partner  in  the  drugstore,  and  he 
always  had  something  to  recommend, 
something  that  would  certainly  cure 
the  baby  now,  if  they  didn't  overfeed 
him. 

"But  I  just  suppose  you  keep  him 
stuffed  full  all  the  time,"  he  remarked, 
tartly,  to  Mr.  Bell.  "I  warrant  you, 
the  chap  hasn't  got  room  to  turn  but 
what  the  cork  comes  out." 

"But  it's  only  milk,"  remonstrated 
Mr.  Bell. 

"Only  milk!"  The  doctor  glared 
at  him.  Then  he  looked  solemn. 

"I  tell  you,  my  good  sir,  milk's 
quite  dangerous  enough  for  a  boy  that 
was  born  with  an  undeveloped  stom- 
ach." 

8 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

"An  undeveloped  stomach!  I 
don't  believe  it,"  retorted  Mr.  Bell, 
hotly.  "Mrs.  Coddle  says  he's  the 
finest  boy  she  ever  saw." 

"Oh,  of  course.  But  it's  true, 
what  I  say,  just  the  same.  Go  home 
and  think  about  it."  There  was  a 
twinkle  in  the  doctor's  eye,  but  Mr. 
Bell  was  too  much  wrought  up  now  to 
see  such  a  little  thing  as  that. 

He  hurried  home  to  Mrs.  Bell,  and 
broke  it  to  her  gently. 

It  seemed  to  them  both  a  fearful 
thing,  and  they  spent  hours  indignantly 
repelling  the  suggestion,  until  Mrs. 
Bell  exclaimed,  triumphantly: 

"Why,  it  just  can't  be  true,  Doug- 
las. Of  course  it  can't.  Why,  if  it 
was,  he  never  could  cry  like  he  does." 

Mr.  Bell  looked  a  little  as  if  he  failed 
to  grasp  the  point. 

"Don't  you  see,  dear?"  continued 
his  wife,  urgently.  "Those  deep,  low 
9 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

notes  in  his  voice — he  must  have 
plenty  of — of  stomach  to  do  them, 
I'm  sure." 

"You  dear  Betty!"  said  her  hus- 
band, tenderly;  and  there  the  matter 
dropped,  for  the  baby  inadvertently 
fell  asleep,  though  it  was  only  2  A.M., 
and  his  parents  actually  forgot  what 
they  had  been  staying  awake  for. 

By  this  time  their  house  resembled 
a  drugstore.  They  had  never  intended 
their  child  to  be  corrupted  by  medicine, 
believing  firmly  that  Nature  was  the 
great  physician,  but  in  moments  of 
frenzy  they  flew  in  the  face  of  theory. 
They  started  out,  or  rather  in,  with 
lime-water.  Then  they  tried  catnip, 
and  peppermint,  and  aniseed,  and 
steeped  caraway-seeds.  They  began 
with  the  remedies  singly;  then  they 
took  them  in  groups,  and  there  were 
even  fearful  moments  when  they 
emptied  them  all  into  him  at  once. 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

They  rolled  him  up  in  compresses 
until  he  was  as  tight  and  hollow  as  a 
drum.  But  he  escaped  with  his  life, 
and — his  lungs.  Then  they  undid 
him,  and  sat  him  in  hot  water  up  to 
his  chin,  while  they  poured  a  pint  of 
it  down  his  throat. 

And  still  he  wept,  real  tears,  which 
mingled  with  the  flood  within  and 
without. 

Then  finally,  in  a  fit  of  utter  desper- 
ation, they  threw  their  morals  to  the 
winds,  and  varnished  him  inside,  and 
massaged  him  outside,  with — whisky. 

"It  does  seem  to  me,"  said  Mr. 
Bell,  rather  doubtfully,  "that  an  un- 
suspecting person  might  think  we  were 
trying  to  murder  him." 

"But,  Douglas,  a  normal  baby 
never  cries.  They  just  sleep  and  eat. 
He's  abnormal,  and  something's  got 
to  be  done  about  it." 

"Yes,  I  dare  say.     But  I've  really 


Little  Lords  of  Creation  . 

wondered  sometimes  whether  he 
wouldn't  get  more  comfort  out  of  his 
crying,  if  we  didn't  interfere  with  it 
quite  so  much." 

Yet,  after  all,  he  didn't  cry  all  the 
time  there  was.  There  were  moments 
in  his  loud  existence  when  he  forgot 
his  lungs — moments  of  mutual  ecstasy 
for  his  parents,  when  he  was  simply 
adorable,  and  "goo'd"  and  "gaa'd" 
enchantingly,  and  smiled  —  oh,  yes! 
really  smiled — right  at  his  mother. 

They  never  referred  now  to  the  time 
when  they  had  thought  him — well, 
not  exactly  handsome.  He  had  such 
lovely  blue-gray  eyes,  and  his  nose 
had  been  Roman  from  the  start,  any- 
way. He  was  the  only  baby  like  him- 
self in  town,  and  they  felt  truly  sorry 
for  all  the  other  people  whose  babies 
had  pug  noses,  wobbly  eyes,  and  a 
general  air  of  mental  vacancy. 

"Just  listen,    Douglas!"   exclaimed 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

Mrs.  Bell  one  evening  about  ten 
o'clock,  when  her  husband  came  in 
from  prayer-meeting.  "It's  really 
remarkable.  I  feel  sure  he's  going  to 
talk  very  young.  You'd  just  think 
he'd  been  practicing  vowel  sounds  the 
whole  evening." 

They  went  in,  and  worshiped  at  his 
shrine  becomingly;  but  in  the  chill 
night  watches  when  prolonged  and 
vigorous  exercise  is  apt  to  pall  upon 
the  frame,  Mr.  Bell  said,  in  a  tone 
which  bordered  on  irreverence: 

"I  must  say,  Betty,  I  think  he's 
kind  of  overdoing  this  thing.  I  wish 
he'd  give  the  vowels  and  me  a  rest,  or 
at  any  rate,  tune  up  on  the  consonants 
for  a  change." 

But,  of  course,  the  baby,  who  no 
doubt  felt  himself  charged  \vith  the 
training  and  development  of  these  two 
very  young  people,  kept  up  the  game, 
from  pure  love  of  the  sport  apparently, 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

until  it  was  nearly  breakfast- time, 
when  he  refreshed  himself  with  a  brief 
but  hearty  nap.  And  then  he  began 
again. 

"You  see,  dear,  it's — like  this," 
said  Mrs.  Bell,  cleverly  getting  in  a 
little  rush  of  words  whenever  there 
was  a  momentary  gap  in  the  volume 
of  sound  on  her  lap.  "Our  child  has 
evidently  got  a — very  intense  na — ture 
that's  how  he  can  get  along  with  so 
little — sleep,  for — for  whenever  he  does 
slee — p  he  sleeps  all  o — ver,  you  know, 
just  like  a  per — feet  human  being 
should ;  he  throws  his  whole  na — ture 
into  whatever  he's  doing." 

"I  wouldn't  mind  that,  Betty,  if  he 
didn't  insist  upon  throwing  mine  in, 
too,"  said  Mr.  Bell,  gloomily.  And 
then  they  both  laughed,  which  was  a 
mistake,  for  the  baby  interpreted  it  as 
a  rivalry  of  his  efforts,  and  strength- 
ened his  note  accordingly. 
H 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

By  nature  and  training  Mrs.  Bell  was 
both  religious  and  clean,  but  after  the 
advent  of  this  boy  with  his  vocal  outfit 
she  hardly  ever  got  a  chance  to  say 
more  than  half  a  prayer  at  a  time,  or 
to  take  more  than  a  third  of  a  bath  at 
a  sitting,  for  against  godliness  and 
cleanliness  the  baby  had  equally  strong 
conscientious  scruples,  it  seemed. 

"I'm  sure  it  must  be  weeks  since  I 
washed  my  left  foot,"  she  sighed  in 
despair  at  last.  "I  always  forget  and 
begin  with  my  right,  and  he  seems  to 
know  by  instinct  just  when  I've  fin- 
ished it.  You'd  think  he  was  dying." 

Before  her  marriage  Mrs.  Bell  had 
been  an  adept  in  all  the  wisdom  of  the 
moderns  on  the  subject  of  "child  cul- 
ture." She  was  confident  then  that 
she  had  an  exact  formula  for  the  de- 
velopment of  their  little  angel-seed 
souls  into  beatific  efflorescence.  She 
had  written  an  article  entitled  "A 
15 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

Little  Child  Shall  Lead  Them,"  which 
had  been  widely  commented  upon,  with 
unanimous  praise  for  its  remarkable 
insight  into  the  "child  spirit."  She 
remembered  it  sometimes  now,  but 
without  joy,  for  her  actual  experience 
with  a  child  in  the  raw  concrete  had 
led  her  to  some  conclusions  of  which 
the  article  in  question  had  been  strik- 
ingly innocent.  Oh,  yes!  her  little 
Laurie  "led"  them,  but  certainly  not 
along  the  route  she  had  in  mind  when 
her  facile  pen  sketched  so  glowingly 
the  spiritual  heights  up  which  rushed 
the  teacher  and  the  parent  in  the  train 
of  the  pedagogical  child. 

Still,  perhaps,  it  was  just  as  well 
that  she  had  gained  glory  by  writing  it 
when  she  was  sure  she  knew  all  about 
it ;  she  would  never  be  in  a  position  to 
dogmatize  again. 

Undoubtedly,  if  the  Bells  could 
have  planned  it,  there  would  have 
16 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

been  a  calmer,  a  less  vociferating 
infancy  for  the  race.  They  were  some- 
times driven  to  compare  babies  and 
kittens  in  a  way  which  would  have 
gratified  the  kittens  and  grieved  the 
baby,  if  he  could  have  heard  them, 
which  was  quite  impossible  in  the  din 
behind  which  he  protected  himself. 

It  was  in  the  shrieking  watches  of 
the  night  that  Mrs.  Bell  first  began  to 
be  haunted  by  the  awful  thought  of 
heredity. 

"I  suppose  you  don't  know  anything 
about  having  a  criminal  on  your  side 
of  the  family,  Douglas?"  she  ventured 
timidly,  at  last. 

"A  criminal,  Betty!  What  in  mis- 
chief do  you  mean?"  demanded  the 
astonished  young  minister. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,  I'm  sure!"  she 

sobbed  hysterically;  "but  it  seems  as 

if  there  must  be  something  to  account 

for  all — for   all — this,   Douglas.     I've 

'7 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

written  to  Aunt  Lucinda  to  look  up 
my  side  of  the  family,  and  I  couldn't 
help  wondering  about  yours.  You 
see,  dear,  there  aren't  any  babies  like 
ours  in  the  books,  and  everybody  who 
comes  here  says  their  children  never 
cried  unless  they  had  pins  sticking  into 
them,  and  that  they  never  had  to  be 
up  with  them  at  night.  I  wouldn't 
dare  tell  that  we're  up  every  night 
nearly  all  night  with  baby." 

"Hah!  Then  I  guess  Mrs.  Puffit's 
baby  must  have  been  stuck  jam-full  of 
pins  the  day  I  called  there.  I  had  to 
talk  to  her  in  pantomime,  because  of  her 
angelic  youngster's  solid  and  everlast- 
ing and  forward-and-back-action  yell." 

Mrs.  Bell  looked  thoughtful. 
"That's  so,"  she  said,  more  cheer- 
fully. "Yet  when  that  woman  was 
here  last  week,  she  said  her  offspring 
never  wept,  because  they  all  inherited 
such  beautiful  dispositions." 

18 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

"Yes,  I'm  sure  they  do!"  retorted 
Mr.  Bell,  in  a  fiercely  negative  tone. 
"You've  only  got  to  know  Papa  and 
Mamma  PurBt  well  to  be  sure  of  the 
mild  accuracy  of  that  statement.  But 
I  tell  you,  Betty,  I'm  proud  to  own 
my  boy,  bawl  and  all." 

But  one  morning  soon  after  this  they 
thought  the  end  of  "bawl  and  all" 
had  certainly  come.  About  six 
o'clock  Mrs.  Bell  took  the  baby  out  of 
the  crib,  which,  of  course,  he  always 
occupied  theoretically,  and  brought 
him  in  with  her.  He  became  at  once 
so  strangely,  sweetly  silent  that  she 
fell  into  a  blessed  sleep,  from  which 
she  was  suddenly  awakened  by  a  sense 
of  vacancy  beside  her  and  a  soft  thud 
on  the  floor. 

"Douglas,"  she  gasped,  in  a  voice 
almost  paralyzed  by  terror,  "he's  gone ! 
Get  him!" 

"Where?"  shouted  Mr.  Bell,  excit- 
19 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

edly.  "Get  the  landing-net,  Betty. 
Get  the  landing-net — quick!" 

For  he  had  just  been  dreaming  that 
he  had  caught  a  black  bass  so  large 
that  it  had  to  be  anchored  fore  and 
aft,  from  one  side  of  the  lake  to  the 
other.  Naturally,  at  Mrs.  Bell's 
scream  he  concluded  the  bass  had 
escaped  from  its  moorings. 

"No,  no,  the  baby!"  wailed  Mrs. 
Bell,  burying  her  head  in  the  bed- 
clothes. She  knew  he  was  dead  by 
this  time. 

Mr.  Bell  sprang  up.  But  when  he 
reached,  at  a  bound,  the  other  side  of 
the  bed,  there  was  no  baby  there. 

"Oh,  Betty!"  he  murmured,  with  a 
prescient  groan,  as  he  vainly  trie,d  to 
brace  himself  for  what  must  be. 

But  lo!  at  that  moment  there  issued 
from  beneath  the  bed  a  gurgling 
"vowel-sound,"  and  looking  there  he 
beheld  the  baby  peacefully  reposing 

20 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

on  his  spine,  and  gazing  with  apparent 
ecstasy  at  the  shining  springs  above 
him. 

After  this  they  concluded  that  he 
was  not  as  perishable  an  article  as  they 
had  supposed,  and  Mr.  Bell  encoun- 
tered a  certain  difficulty  in  refusing  to 
hold  the  darling,  on  the  plea  that  he 
was  feeling  "nervous,"  and  would  be 
sure  to  let  him  fall  and  break. 

The  Bells  had  only  been  settled  in 
Sand  Harbor  about  a  month  before  the 
baby  made  their  acquaintance,  and 
naturally  enough  the  people  of  the 
little  town  were  very  much  interested 
in  their  new  pastor  and  his  wife,  and 
everything  that  was  his,  and  soon  the 
baby  furnished  a  phenomenal  theme 
for  the  sewing  society,  and  gossip 
about  his  antics  even  bulged  out  at 
the  missionary  meeting  in  elusive 
whispers. 

Then   the  sisters  began  to  call  on 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

Mrs.  Bell,  singly  and  in  squads,  and 
they  brought  their  advice  with  them. 
Mrs.  Netley  was  sure  he  was  teething. 
Why,  her  second  cousin's  sister-in-law 
had  a  baby  who  was  born  with  a  tooth. 
From  that  fact  it  was  perfectly  rational 
to  deduce  the  theory  that  Baby  Bell 
was  cutting  his  now.  But  on  the  other 
hand,  Mrs.  Pringle  was  certain  it  was 
not  his  teeth  at  all. 

"That  kind  always  cries  till  the  day 
they're  three  months  old.  It's  a  waste 
of  time  and  money  trying  to  stop  'em. 
You  just  wait.  The  day  he's  three 
months  old  he'll  shut  up  tight's  if  he 
was  corked.  That's  if  he  lives,  of 
course.  Some  can't  keep  it  up  that 
long." 

"Oh,  no!  It  isn't  his  age.  I  know 
exactly  what's  the  matter  with  your 
poor  precious,"  sighed  Mrs.  De  Lent. 
"It's  his  little  nerves,  Mrs.  Bell. 
Neurasthenia,  that's  it.  Neurasthe- 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

nia."  Her  tongue  tenderly  caressed 
the  word.  She  was  very  proud  of  it. 
She  wondered  if  Mrs.  Bell  had  ever 
heard  it  before. 

"I  suppose  you've  never  suffered 
from  neurasthenia,  Mrs.  Bell?" 

"No,"  said  Mrs.  Bell,  very  shortly. 

"Now  really!  Well,  my  doctor  said 
it  only  attacked  the  most  sensitive, 
high-strung  natures.  But  I  dare  say 
your  dear  baby  inherits  his  predisposi- 
tion to  it  from  his  father.  I  just  ad- 
mire Mr.  Bell,  you  know,  Mrs.  Bell. 
He's  so  spiritual.  So  lofty." 

"Yes.  Six  feet  in  his  stockings," 
said  Mrs.  Bell,  cruelly. 

"Now,  is  he?  Well,  I  was  always 
very  fond  of  a  tall  man. ' '  Mr.  De  Lent 
was  very  short.  "But  about  the  neu- 
rasthenia. You  see,  I  know  just  how 
it  is  to  feel  exactly  as  your  baby  acts. 
Oh,  I  assure  you,  I  had  to  exercise  the 
most  rigid  self-control  to  keep  myself 
23 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

from  screaming.  But  you  couldn't 
expect  that  in  a  little  sweetsy-tweet, 
could  you,  now?" 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Mrs.  Bell, 
stubbornly. 

"Oh,  no!  You  really  couldn't." 
Mrs.  De  Lent  looked  profound.  "I 
tried  the  Rest  Cure.  It  saved  me. 
But  it's  awfully  expensive.  Because 
there  isn't  any  treatment,  you  know. 
You  just  go  there  and  keep  still.  I 
don't  know,  though,  whether  they 
take  infants.  But  you  could  find  out, 
couldn't  you?  I'll  send  you  the  ad- 
dress." 

As  she  Jose  to  go,  after  a  call  pro- 
longed until  Mrs.  Bell  wondered  how 
soon  it  would  be  before  she  burst  into 
tears  and  joined  in  the  baby's  distant 
howls  herself,  Mrs.  De  Lent  said, 
earnestly : 

"And  whatever  you    do,    my  dear 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

Mrs.  Bell,  don't  feed  him  meat, 
especially  pork. ' ' 

"Meat?" 

"Yes,  meat.  It  is  the  root  of  all 
the  sin  and  suffering  in  the  world. 
Now  there  is  my  husband.  While  I 
was  away  he  boarded  with  a  carnivo- 
rous family,  and  in  spite  of  all  the 
injunctions  I  had  given  him,  he  gave 
way  to  temptation,  and  ate  it  freely,  I 
know.  Of  course,  it  has  all  settled 
solidly  in  the  tendrils  of  his  feet,  and 
he  is  suffering  agonies  from  what  he 
obstinately  calls  rheumatism.  I  tell 
him  he  should  be  honest  enough  to 
call  it  cannibalism.  You  know,  I'm 
very  much  inclined  to  be  theosophical 
myself,  and  there's  the  transmigration 
of  souls  and  all  that.  You  see,  we 
really  don't  know  who  the  sheep  and 
the  cows  and  the  pigs  may  actually  be. 
Why,  it's  an  awful  thought." 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

' 'Douglas,"  said  Mrs.  Bell,  solemnly, 
to  her  husband  at  the  supper-table, 
"  pause  before  you  eat  that  pork. 
Mrs.  De  Lent  says  it  may  be  Shake- 
speare, or  the  Queen  of  Sheba. " 


26 


CHAPTER   II 

"Douglas,  who  do  you  think's  been 
here  now,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Bell, 
breathlessly,  one  afternoon  as  her  hus- 
band came  in  after  a  round  of  calling. 
He  looked  gloomy,  and  she  supposed 
that  he  must  have  met  some  of  the 
saints  who  considered  it  their  mission 
in  life  to  point  out  faithfully  to  their 
pastor  his  many  and  varied  short- 
comings. 

"Why,  Mrs.  Bradney.  And  she 
was  perfectly  lovely.  You  can't  think 
what  she  said  about  you — that  you're 
so  clever,  and  I  must  be  so  proud  of 
you.  Oh,  heaps  of  nice  things,  dear." 

Mr.  Bell  brightened.  For,  after  all, 
if  he  could  please  Mrs.  Bradney,  the 
personage  of  whom  it  was  commonly 
27 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

said  that  when  she  snuffed  all  Sand 
Harbor  sneezed,  why,  it  didn't  much 
matter  if  Mrs.  Hopley  did  announce 
with  an  air  of  finality  that  she  hadn't 
any  use  for  "such  broken  and  empty 
vessels  as  poor  human  intellex  in  the 
pulpit,  Mr.  Bell.  Now,  if  what  you 
preached  at  us  three  weeks  ago  last 
Sunday  wasn't  Universal  Salvation, 
Mr.  Bell,  then  I  don't  know  what 
Universal  Salvation  is.  And  Mr. 
Hopley  said  to  me,  as  we  walked  home 
after  that  sermon,  'Maria,  there's  no 
hope  for  the  world  without  hell. 
Why,  if  I  didn't  believe  in  eternal 
punishment,  I'd  like  to  know  what 
there'd  be  to  keep  me  from  just  going 
in  to  have  a  real  good  time,  like  the 
rest  of  the  fellows,  right  off.' 

"Oh,  there  would  always  be  Maria," 
was  the  retort  which  ached  for  utter- 
ance on  Mr.   Bell's  lips,  but  he  pru- 
dently    repressed     it,     and    patiently 
28 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

resigned  himself  to  a  prolonged  disser- 
tation on  the  remarkable  mental  outfits 
with  which  it  had  pleased  Providence 
to  endow  the  Hopley  children. 

Mr.  Bradney  had  owned  the 
"Mills,"  and  the  "Mills"  had  been 
Sand  Harbor's  only  logical  excuse  for 
being,  and  though  after  his  death  his 
wife  had  disposed  of  the  business  and 
lapsed  into  a  lessening  interest  in  the 
town,  with  its  increasing  swarm  of 
strange  faces,  she  retained  her  proud 
place  in  its  traditions,  and  to  be 
"known"  by  Mrs.  Bradney  was  still 
its  most  coveted  social  distinction. 

"Oh,  I  suppose  we  looked  just  like 
'Dignity  and  Impudence,'  "'  continued 
Mrs.  Bell,  "for  she's  tall  and  stately, 
and  her  eyes — whew!  they  screw  into 
you  like  gimlets.  But  her  hair's 
lovely,  soft  and  white,  like  spun  snow." 

"Now,  Betty—" 

"Oh,  I  know,  Douglas.  You 
29 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

haven't  the  least  imagination,  dear. 
But  you  know  what  I  look  like,  any- 
way, a  kind  of  Japanese  chipmunk  in 
petticoats.  But  I  made  up  my  mind 
I  wasn't  going  to  be  scared  by  her,  so 
I  thought  I'd  pretend  she  was  the 
scared  one,  and  after  that  we  got  along 
beautifully.  But  what  do  you  think 
she  says,  Douglas?"  Mrs.  Bell's  voice 
became  portentous.  "She  says  the 
baby's  hungry.  Hungry!  Just  think 
of  that!" 

"Well,  then,  Betty,  let's  feed  him," 
exclaimed  Mr.  Bell,  impulsively. 

Mrs.  Bell  looked  at  her  husband 
reproachfully.  "Oh,  yes,  Douglas, 
that  sounds  easy.  But  I  can  just  tell 
you  this:  if  we  do  feed  him,  it  means 
giving  up  the  last  principle  I've  stuck 
to  all  the  way  through.  I  told  Mrs. 
Bradney  I  didn't  see  how  he  could  be 
hungry,  for  the  only  rule  that  I  hadn't 
broken  was  that  I  always  fed  him  by 
3° 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

the  clock."  A  half-smile  crossed  Mrs. 
Bell's  face.  "She  said  she'd  have 
more  confidence  in  a  bottle  herself." 

"A  bottle!" 

"Why,  of  course,  Douglas." 

"Oh,  I  don't  know  about  that, 
Betty." 

"Well,  I  thought  you  were  in  pretty 
much  of  a  hurry  just  now  to  express 
yourself.  You  see  now  what  it  means. 
Still,  Douglas,  she  said  she  lost  her 
eldest  boy  just  like — like  this." 

Of  course  that  settled  it,  and  in  a 
very  little  while  Mr.  Bell  was  hurrying 
down  town  after  the  implements  of 
nutrition. 

It  being  his  first  purchase  in  that 
particular  line,  he  was  naturally  anxious 
to  shine  in  the  transaction,  and  accord- 
ingly he  bought  the  most  expensive 
and  most  dexterously  complicated 
bottle  known  to  the  trade.  He  found 
out  later  that  you  could  do  almost  any- 
31 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

thing  with  it,  except  feed  the  baby — 
that  is,  if  you  or  the  baby  were  in  a 
hurry  about  it.  For  after  you  had 
once  got  the  food  into  it,  it  was  neces- 
sary to  make  arrangements  to  get  it 
out  again. 

And  that  was  just  where  the  pat- 
ent self-adjusting  cap  made  a  fool  of 
you. 

Mr.  Bell  said  a  great  many  things 
that  evening  which  sounded  orthodox 
enough  to  be  in  a  Middle-Aged  ser- 
mon on  the  eternal  destiny  of  the 
wicked,  and  yet  his  strong  statements 
of  these  grand  old  truths  seemed  to 
scandalize  his  wife. 

"Douglas,  the  deacons,"  she  sug- 
gested once,  by  way  of  remonstrance. 

"Hang  the  deacons,"  retorted  he, 
recklessly.  But  it  was  an  hour  and 
ten  minutes  after  the  bottle  first  came 
into  the  house  before  they  finally  suc- 
ceeded in  inducing  that  patent  self- 
32 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

adjusting  cap  to  let  them  adjust  it. 
And  then  Mrs.  Bell,  who  secretly 
hated  the  horrid  thing  which  was  going 
to  steal  her  rights  from  her,  flew 
moaning  to  the  garret  with  a  towel 
over  her  head.  But  she  only  stayed 
there  one  minute,  after  all,  and  then 
nearly  fell  down  the  two  flights  of  stairs 
in  her  anxiety  to  find  out  what  "he 
did  do  with  it,  anyway." 

There  was  a  while  of  awful  suspense 
as  Baby  Bell  sampled  the  new  arrange- 
ment with  various  expressions  of  de- 
rision and  contempt,  which  alternately 
delighted  and  depressed  Mrs.  Bell; 
but  at  last  he  evidently  made  up  his 
mind  that  he  had  got  on  to  a  good 
thing,  and  had  better  stick  to  it.  And 
he  actually  fell  asleep  before  ten 
o'clock,  with  a  bland  and  beatific  smile 
upon  his  cheeks,  but  from  sheer  force 
of  habit  his  parents  watched  him  on 
tip-toe  for  some  hours,  as  charily  as  if 
33 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

he  were  a  dynamite  bomb  warranted 
to  explode  on  sight. 

And  now  began  a  new  era — a  bot- 
tle era — in  the  Bell  household.  For 
after  a  while  the  baby  formulated  a 
theory  on  the  subject  of  bottles  which 
showed  him  to  be  an  early  convert  to 
the  views  of  certain  social  economists 
along  the  same  lines.  The  child  was 
plainly  of  a  philanthropic  turn  of 
mind,  and  knew  instinctively  what  was 
to  the  interest  of  the  workingman. 
And  so  he  promptly  smashed  his  bot- 
tles as  soon  as  they  went  dry. 

But  Mrs.  Bell,  who  was  an  econo- 
mist of  the  domestic  variety,  which  is 
quite  another  thing,  saw  the  matter  in 
a  very  different  light,  and  Mr.  Bell 
grew  weary  of  furnishing  a  joke  to  the 
drugstore.  Then  one  day  a  most 
brilliant  idea  occurred  to  Mrs.  Bell. 
Why,  there  were  all  those  piles  of  bot- 
tles in  the  cellar.  She  was  astonished 
34 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

at  her  stupidity  in  never  having 
thought  of  them  before.  Surely,  with 
a  little  adjustment  they  would  serve 
baby's  purpose  admirably. 

She  laughed  a  good  deal  at  his  ap- 
pearance when  she  set  him  out  in  the 
warm  sunshine  in  his  carriage,  half  an 
hour  later,  but  as  long  as  he  enjoyed 
the  big  black  bottle,  what  did  it  mat- 
ter? Then  she  went  back  to  the 
kitchen,  and  carefully  cleaned  and 
scalded  six.  others  of  the  same  kind,  so 
as  to  have  them  ready  for  emergencies. 
"I  can't  think  why  those  people  had 
so  many  bottles,"  she  said,  innocently, 
referring  to  the  former  tenants  of  the 
house.  "And  they  seem  so  clean, 
and  don't  smell  of  anything;  but  I 
had  better  give  them  a  good  airing, 
and  make  sure." 

She  hunted  about,  but  she  could 
not  find  any  place  to  put  them,  except 
the  end  of  the  front  veranda,  where 
35 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

the  sun  shone  strongly  now;  and 
though  she  felt  a  little  doubtful  about 
it,  she  soon  concluded  that  it  would 
be  all  right,  for  it  was  such  a  quiet 
street,  with  hardly  anybody  passing 
but  the  farmers  on  their  way  into  town. 
She  did  long  to  call  Mr.  Bell  to  look 
at  the  baby,  lying  there  clasping  that 
huge  thing  with  both  hands,  but  she 
must  not  do  that,  for  she  knew  he  was 
putting  the  last  ornamental  touches 
on  the  great  sermon  he  was  to  preach 
to-morrow  in  a  neighboring  town, 
with  whose  pastor  he  was  to  exchange 
pulpits. 

But  in  spite  of  his  feverish  absorption 
in  his  subject,  Mr.  Bell,  whose  study 
table  was  close  to  the  window,  could 
not  ultimately  avoid  becoming  con- 
scious that  everybody  who  passed  his 
house  stopped  and  stared  as  if  some- 
thing were  the  matter  with  it.  He 
thought  at  once  that  the  kitchen  chim- 
36 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

ney  must  be  on  fire.  But  no,  it  could 
not  be  that,  for  while  some  people 
shook  their  heads  gravely,  most  of 
them  walked  past  grinning. 

Well,  he  could  not  stop  to  inves- 
tigate the  matter  now,  for  he  had 
spent  more  time  over  his  sermon  than 
he  had  supposed,  and  he  saw  with 
alarm  that  he  had  barely  time  to  catch 
his  train.  He  gathered  up  his  papers 
and  a  few  books,  hastily  rammed 
them  into  his  valise,  and  bounced 
downstairs.  Mrs.  Bell  met  him  in  the 
hall.  He  had  never  seen  her  so  cheer- 
ful before  when  he  was  going  away. 

"Oh,  Douglas,  do  come  and  see! 
Isn't  it  lovely?  Did  you  ever  see  him 
look  so  sweet?  Isn't  it  ridiculous?" 

He  looked  out.  There  in  the  gay 
sunshine  lay  that  baby,  with  a  fat, 
boozy  smile  on  his  face,  lazily  imbibing 
his  means  of  existence  through  a  beer- 
bottle — yes,  a  beer-bottle. 
37 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

"Isn't  it  a  good  idea,  dear?  Such 
nice  bottles,  and  lots  of  them." 

"Yes.  No.  I  can't  tell.  I  mean, 
I  think  so,  but  I  hope  not,"  answered 
Mr.  Bell,  very  much  at  random,  it 
seemed  to  his  wife.  "Be  sure  you 
explain,  Betty." 

And  then  he  rushed  away,  provi- 
dentially unobservant  of  the  six  other 
bottles  boldly  reposing  on  their  sides 
in  the  eyes  of  all  beholders. 

But  in  an  incredibly  short  space  of 
time  all  Sand  Harbor  was  talking  about 
that  baby  and  the  beer-bottles.  For 
Deacon  Creak,  driving  into  town,  saw 
the  whole  thing  with  his  own  eyes — 
and  his  wife's — and  casually  mentioned 
it  to  Deacon  Pringle,  who  was  a  man 
of  convictions,  and  worshiped  a  cold- 
water  God ;  and  before  Deacon  Creak, 
who  was  a  mild-eyed,  meek-voiced 
man,  could  at  all  comprehend  what 
was  happening,  he  found  himself  the 
38 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

center  of  an  interested  throng  in  the 
grocery,  and  under  Brother  Pringle's 
masterly  cross-examination,  committed 
to  statements  which  afterwards  ap- 
palled him. 

"That  baby — yes,  a  child  of  the 
covenant — we  are  told,  you  know,  to 
avoid  the  appearance  of  evil."  Here 
he  paused  a  moment,  but  under  Dea- 
con Pringle's  compelling  eye,  he 
straightened  his  spine  aggressively,  as 
if  to  assure  everybody  and  himself 
that  it  was  not  built  of  melted  butter. 
"We  regret  to  have  discovered,  sir, 
that — that — that  the  offspring  of  our — 
our  pastor,  which  they  vowed — vowed 
before  us  all,  us  all,  to  love,  honor,  and 
obey,  as  it  were,  in  the  fear  and  ad- 
monition of  the  Lord — "  A  sup- 
pressed giggle  distracted  him  just  as 
he  had  felt  himself  on  firm  ground  and 
doing  beautifully.  "Well,  our  off- 
spring— no,  your  offspring,  I  mean" — 
39 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

he  fixed  his  soft  blue  eyes  on  Deacon 
Pringle,  who  shook  his  head  at  him 
violently — "has  been — been — " 

"Drinking!"  broke  in  Deacon 
Pringle,  heavily. 

"Guzzling!"  he  added,  after  an 
awful  pause. 

"Beer!" 

Just  as  he  might  have  said  ' '  Blood ! ' ' 

"Beer?"  exclaimed  Mr.  Inskip,  in 
horror. 

"Beer!"  repeated  Deacon  Creak, 
doubtfully.  "Oh,  Brother  Pringle,  I 
don't  think — " 

"Well,  do  you  know  what  I  think?" 

It  was  a  cool,  jibing  voice  from  the 
edge  of  the  little  gathering,  and  every- 
body turned  to  look  at  Vandelia  Crane, 
Mrs.  Bradney's  domestic  factotum. 

"I  think  I'd  just  as  soon  be  waited 
on  as  not,  Mr.  Pringle,  if  you  can  con- 
veniently part  with  a  little  of  your 
valuable  time." 

4o 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

Mr.  Pringle  slipped  unctuously  be- 
hind his  counter. 

"Yes,  yes,  Miss  Crane;  certainly, 
certainly,  with  the  greatest  pleasure, 
Miss  Crane."  He  leaned  towards  her 
confidentially.  "These  country  peo- 
ple, you  know,  they  like  their  bit  of 
talk  when  they  come  into  town,  and  a 
storekeeper's  got  to  humor  them,  you 
know,  Miss  Crane.  Still,  if  what  they 
say  is  so — and  I  don't  see  how  it  could 
be,  only  for  Deacon  Creak's  word — 
that  child  was  actually  discovered  in  a 
drunken  stupor,  with  one  bottle  of 
distilled  damnation  at  his  lips  and  six 
empty  ones  at  his  side." 

Vandelia  Crane  threw  back  her  head 
and  laughed.  "Say,  don't  you  think 
you're  a  pretty  shoddy  saint?"  she 
said,  as  she  picked  up  her  purchase. 
"If  I  were  you,  I  wouldn't  repeat  that 
story  till  I'd  investigated  it  some  fur- 
ther. It  might  hurt  trade.  Mrs. 
41 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

Bradney  says  that  young  preacher  of 
yours  is  smarter  than  greased  light- 
ning." 

And  after  that  nobody  outdid  the 
subtle  grocer  in  pain  and  astonish- 
ment at  Deacon  Creak's  statements — 
those  astonishing  statements  which  the 
poor  addle-minded  old  man  sorrowfully 
acknowledged  as  his  own  because  Mr. 
Pringle  had  such  abundant  proof  that 
they  were. 

But  among  his  cronies  Mr.  Pringle 
continued  to  relate  the  story  so  often 
and  with  such  intangible  intricacies  of 
meaning  that  there  are  still  people 
who  could  not  be  persuaded  to  aban- 
don their  belief  in  the  minister's  intox- 
icated baby  and  the.half-dozen  of  beer. 


CHAPTER   III 

The  summer  waxed  and  waned,  and 
in  the  fall  the  Bells  found  themselves 
confronted  with  the  problem  of  an- 
other winter  in  a  house  on  the  ragged 
edge  of  the  wrong  side  of  Sand  Harbor. 

"If  it  were  only  a  mile  and  a  half 
on  the  other  side,  it  wouldn't  matter 
so  much,"  said  Mrs.  Bell,  with  a  sigh. 
"So  few  of  our  people  live  out  this 
way.  Just  think!  We're  three  miles 
from  Mrs.  Bradney,  and  after  all, 
Douglas,  you  know  I  like  her  better 
than  anybody  else  in  Sand  Harbor." 

Mr.  Bell  smiled.  "I  daresay,  Betty. 
I  haven't  a  doubt  there  are  lots  of 
people  in  Sand  Harbor  who  would  be 
very  glad  to  like  her  better  than  any- 
body else,  too." 

43 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

Mrs.  Bell  tossed  her  head  saucily. 
Her  expanding  intimacy  with  the  mis- 
tress of  Hill  House  was  at  present  a 
source  of  great  pride  to  her,  and  though 
she  sometimes  wondered  what  was  the 
secret  of  the  older  woman's  sudden 
fancy  for  her,  such  questions  are  so 
easily  answered  when  it  is  one's  self 
who  is  the  favorite. 

As  for  Mrs.  Bradney,  she  wondered 
a  little  about  it  herself.  But  that 
baby  had  interested  her  from  the  be- 
ginning; she  had  always  liked  boys, 
big  loud  boys,  and  never  more  than 
now,  when  in  her  bitterness  of  spirit 
she  compared  them  with  girls.  Her 
boys,  if  they  had  lived,  would  never 
have  humiliated  her  as  her  daughter 
had  done — that  child  who  had  been  as 
near  to  her  as  the  beating  of  her  heart. 
They  would  have  had  the  pride  and 
backbone  of  their  mother.  She  was 


44 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

sure  of  that.      Hilary  had  been  like  her 
father,  easy  and  yielding. 

And  so,  as  a  sop  to  her  hungry 
heart,  she  had  sought  to  interest  her- 
self in  Baby  Bell,  and  when  he  had  so 
royally  justified  her  advice  and  grown 
fat  and  flourishing  on  it  by  the  minute, 
and  had  then  sought  to  earn  a  dizzy 
reputation  for  himself  by  beer-bottles, 
and  lots  of  them,  she  had  been  mali- 
ciously charmed  with  him,  and  had 
paraded  the  story  far  and  wide,  to  the 
discomfiture  of  its  authors.  And  his 
parents — "the  children,"  as  she  called 
them — she  liked  to  watch  them,  for  it 
took  her  back  thirty  years  or  more, 
away  back  to  those  early  beginnings 
among  the  shrouded  memories  of  the 
past,  which  were  so  much  more  vivid 
than  anything  she  experienced  now  in 
the  life  which  was  like  an  ugly  dream 
to  her.  It  was  a  relief  to  escape  from 


45 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

it  into  the  sweet,  fresh  atmosphere  of 
these  young,  courageous  lives. 

The  end  of  the  matter  was  that  just 
as  the  first  snows  fell  white  upon  the 
hills  and  drifted  deep  in  the  hollows, 
the  Bells  moved  into  a  house  a  little 
way  out  on  the  long,  lonely  road  which 
led  to  what  all  Sand  Harbor  knew  as 
the  Hill  House. 

Some  of  their  people  objected  to 
this  arrangement,  but  then,  as  Mr. 
Bell  said,  there  were  some  people  who 
were  bound  to  object  to  anything  any- 
body did,  particularly  if  he  was  their 
pastor,  and  especially  if  he  did  noth- 
ing. 

"I'm  afraid  you'll  be  real  lonely," 
said  Mrs.  Pringle,  pityingly.  "Now, 
if  you  had  taken  the  Drake  house,  I 
could  have  been  in  and  out  all  the 
time.  But  I  can't  climb  that  hill." 
And  then  Mrs.  Bell  silently  blessed  the 
hill  in  her  heart. 

46 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

The  Bells  were  reasonably  wise  for 
such  young  people,  and  had  furnished 
their  home  on  the  principle  that  qual- 
ity was  better  than  quantity,  which 
might  come  later,  but  they  were  much 
depressed  at  the  amount  of  their 
household  goods  when  they  came  to  be 
measured  by  the  capacity  of  a  load  at 
three  dollars  the  trip ;  and  though  Mr. 
Bell  considered  himself  rather  an  ex- 
pert packer,  there  were  desperate  mo- 
ments when  they  both  meditated  darkly 
amid  their  domestic  ruins  and  each 
suspected  incendiary  tendencies  in  the 
other's  bosom. 

But  they  worried  through  it  some- 
how, and  packed  bric-a-brac  in  the 
bread-box,  and  onions  and  tea  and 
turnips  along  with  several  pounds  of 
butter  in  the  wash-boiler,  which  Mr. 
Bell  in  a  frenzied  moment  set  on  top 
of  the  hot  stove,  out  of  harm's  way. 
Then  the  butter  got  loose  and  went 
47 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

where  it  was  not  expected,  and  Mrs. 
Bell  made  some  strong  remarks,  espe- 
cially when  she  discovered,  too,  a  pint 
bottle  of  ink  among  the  best  table- 
cloths, and  the  coffeepot  and  teapot 
tied  to  the  handle  of  the  kerosene 
can,  which  happened  to  be  overflow- 
ingly  full.  But  Mr.  Bell  had  reached 
the  reckless  stage,  and  said  he  didn't 
care,  because  he  didn't  expect  to  live 
through  the  experience,  anyhow. 

But  Baby  Bell's  bohemian  little 
heart  exulted  in  the  chaos  which  had 
overcome  his  tidy  home.  That  the 
washtubs  should  be  in  the  parlor  and 
the  plush  chairs  in  the  kitchen  did  not 
disturb  him  any  more  than  when  his 
father  put  him  to  sleep  in  the  clothes- 
basket,  which  his  mother  had  packed 
half- full  of  her  best  china.  For,  as 
Mr.  Bell  unfeelingly  remarked  when 
it  was  all  over,  and  most  of  it  had 
been  transferred  to  the  garbage-box, 
48 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

"Nothing  was  hurt  with  the  exception 
of  the  china." 

Baby  Bell  was  becoming  quite  ex- 
pert in  the  art  of  living,  and  only  cried 
now  when  he  had  exhausted  every 
other  means  of  making  the  loudest 
noise.  His  mother  thought  he  must 
have  a  remarkable  ear  for  music;  he 
could  elicit  such  a  variety  of  sounds 
from  a  tin  pan  and  an  iron  spoon. 
But  Mr.  Bell  felt  a  little  sore  on  this 
subject.  Of  course,  every  man  likes 
to  see  his  children  happy;  it  is  quite 
another  thing  to  hear  them  in  the  act. 

They  were  charmed  with  the  new 
house  and  its  surroundings.  There 
were  no  neighbors  offensively  near 
them,  and  Mrs.  Bell  rejoiced  in  the 
big,  airy  rooms,  with  their  outlook 
upon  enchanting  glimpses  of  the  lake — 
that  is,  until  they  came  to  put  down 
the  carpets,  which  she  tugged  at  one 
end  and  Mr.  Bell  at  the  other,  until 
49 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

only  a  miracle  saved  them  from  being 
torn  into  quarters — and  until,  in  a  sud- 
den and  absurdly  premature  cold  snap, 
all  the  water-pipes  burst,  and  were 
discovered  to  be  of  so  queer  and  com- 
plicated a  character  that  they  bore  no 
resemblance  to  anything  in  the  earth 
beneath  or  the  heavens  above — except 
the  plumber's  bill.  That  fifteen  dol- 
lars left  a  harrowing  spot  in  Mrs.  Bell's 
heart.  She  never  ceased  wondering 
what  they  might  have  done  with  it  if 
they  hadn't  had  to  do  that.  It  really 
seemed  that  no  possible  investment 
ever  could  have  yielded  such  remark- 
able returns  as  that  identical  fifteen 
dollars,  but  for  the  perfidy  of  a 
plumber. 

But  after  all,  in  due  process  of  time 
they  emerged  from  the  state  of  sav- 
agery into  which  their  moving  had 
plunged  them,  and  became  again  well- 
bred,  self-respecting  citizens,  no 
50 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

longer  under  the  fell  necessity  of  eat- 
ing soup  with  a  salt-spoon  or  carving 
the  roast  with  a  fruit-knife.  And  when 
the  fourteen  thousand  and  sixty-third 
tack  had  been  driven  to  its  final  home, 
and  the  step-ladder  had  made  posi- 
tively its  last  appearance  in  the  parlor, 
Mrs.  Bell  admitted  that  she  must  now 
turn  her  attention  to  the  domestic 
problem,  though  she  had  declared  that 
she  would  never,  never  keep  a  girl 
again,  owing  to  the  fiendish  atrocities 
committed  by  the  last  one  upon  the 
dinner-service.  According  to  Mr.  Bell, 
she  should  have  engaged  a  servant  just 
before  they  moved,  but  she  had  coldly 
scouted  the  idea  of  such  a  thing. 

"Why,  it  would  simply  ruin  any 
servant,  Douglas,  to  bring  her  into  the 
midst  of  all  this  confusion.  She  would 
get  such  an  impression  of  disorder 
that  she  would  never  be  a  tidy  girl  as 
long  as  she  lived  with  us." 
51 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

"Well,  if  she's  such  a  confirmed 
imbecile  that  she  can't  succeed  in 
acquiring  in  time  the  impression  that 
we  don't  always  eat  our  dinners  off 
individual  soap-boxes,  I  think  we'd 
better  find  it  out  quick,"  said  Mr.  Bell, 
warmly.  "A  girl  like  that  wouldn't 
blink  at  making  the  baby  into  mock- 
duck  soup  some  Sunday  morning  when 
you're  at  church,  if  she  ran  short  of 
ingredients." 

But  Mrs.  Bell  obstinately  stuck  to 
her  own  view  of  the  case,  and  when- 
ever she  needed  help  "got  in"  a  char- 
woman of  the  poor -but- honest  -  if  - 
homely-widow  variety.  This  system 
might  have  continued  indefinitely  if 
Mrs.  Baggs  had  not  developed  a  curi- 
ous little  habit  of  rushing  in  upon  her 
the  last  thing  before  she  went  home  to 
say  breathlessly: 

"Oh,  Mis'  Bell!  There's  a  few  lit- 
tle old  scraps  in  the  pantry ;  no  lady 
52 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

like  you  would  wish  to  use  'em, 
ma'am,  and  it's  too  bad  to  throw  out 
food  that  my  poor  children — yes,  Mis' 
Bell,  I'm  obliged  to  own  we've  got 
down  to  where  they  acshully  would  eat 
a  dog's  leavin's — yes,  ma'am,  thank 
you,  ma'am."  And  then  before  Mrs. 
Bell  could  rally  her  recollections  of 
the  larder,  Mrs.  Baggs  would  have 
escaped  with  the  potatoes  and  steak 
reserved  for  breakfast,  as  well  as 
the  chicken  croquettes  waiting  under  a 
plate  for  supper.  But  that  was  not 
the  worst.  Things  vanished  which 
Mrs.  Baggs  did  not  think  it  worth 
even  her  breath  to  mention.  Mrs. 
Bell  tried  the  effect  of  polite,  serious, 
and  finally  severe  remonstrance,  but  it 
was  a  great  waste  of  time  and  energy. 
Mrs.  Baggs  prided  herself  on  her  hon- 
esty, and  never  admitted  anything  in 
her  past  career  likely  to  interfere  with 
that  estimate  of  herself.  Every  morn- 
53 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

ing  she  washed  her  slate  clean  morally, 
and  began  all  over  again. 

"Shoes,  ma'am?  No,  I  don't 
remember  nothin'  about  shoes, 
ma'am.  It's  affliction;  that's  what's 
done  it,  Mis'  Bell.  My  memory  ain't 
what  it  used  to  be,  and  if  I  seem 
lackin'  in  gratitood  about  a  pair  of 
old  shoes  you  may  have  been  kind 
enough  to  give  me  when  I  was  here  last, 
just  put  it  down  to  affliction,  ma'am." 

Thus  it  was  that  it  became  necessary 
to  relinquish  Mrs.  Baggs  as  too  expen- 
sive a  luxury,  and  then  Mrs.  Bell's 
fancy  lightly  turned  to  thoughts  of 
"girls." 

But  at  the  end  of  six  weeks  she  had 
experimented  with  seven,  and  could 
hardly  think  of  the  subject  without 
hysterics. 

Number  One  had  a  passion  for  bead 
trimmings,  and  salted  the  stew  and 
seasoned  the  curry  with  the  deadly 
54 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

drippings  of  her  garniture.  She  had 
a  standing  recommendation  from  the 
dentist's  wife.  Number  Two  beat  the 
baby  with  his  own  father's  walking- 
stick,  and  ate  up  an  entire  angel-cake, 
Mrs.  Bell's  masterpiece,  before  the 
icing  had  had  time  to  dry,  and  threw 
away  the  dish.  Number  Three  excused 
her  perfidy  in  going  off  and  leaving 
the  baby  alone  in  the  house  at  night 
by  proudly  describing  herself  as  of  an 
extremely  nervous,  sympathetic  tem- 
perament. 

"The  least  sound  would  set  me  off," 
she  said,  darkly. 

"And  yet  you  would  leave  my  poor 
little  baby  here  all  alone  the  minute 
my  back's  turned!"  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Bell,  resentfully. 

"Oh,  yes,  ma'am!     Because  he's  a 
child,  and  can  be  trained  to  stay  alone 
just  as  well  as  not.     But  I  ain't,  and 
I  never  was,  and  I  can't." 
55 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

Number  Four,  who  started  out  bril- 
liantly, said  at  the  end  of  the  second 
day  that  she  was  ready  to  "quit,"  un- 
less they  could  have  breakfast  by  6:30 
sharp.  She  liked  to  get  her  work  out 
of  the  way  early. 

"But  we  never  have  breakfast  before 
eight  o'clock,  and  we  never  shall,"  de- 
clared Mrs.  Bell,  with  unexpected 
firmness.  "For  I  run  this  house  just 
to  suit  my  husband,  and  nobody  else." 

"You  do?"  exclaimed  the  girl,  in 
genuine  astonishment.  "Well,  I  guess 
I'd  better  go,  then,  for  'twouldn't  be 
the  least  bit  of  good  for  me  to  try  to 
stay  where  things  wasn't  run  to  suit 
me." 

Number  Five  was  delicate  and  re- 
fined, and  gave  Mrs.  Bell  at  once  to 
understand  that  she  considered  house- 
work most  degrading,  and  that  she 
expected  her  pursuit  of  it  to  be  very 
brief.  It  transpired  later,  when  she 

56 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

took  to  practicing  the  Mad  Scene  from 
"Lucia  di  Lammermoor"  after  the 
family  had  retired  for  the  night,  that 
she  had  fixed  her  leaping  ambitions 
upon  the  operatic  stage.  Mrs.  Bell 
remonstrated.  "Oh,  but  I  don't  mind 
losing  my  rest,"  said  the  incipient 
star,  fervently.  "I'd  lots  rather  sing 
than  sleep." 

"Yes,  but  as  Mr.  Bell  and  I  can't 
sing,  Arethusa,  don't  you  think  we 
might  prefer  to  sleep?"  inquired  Mrs. 
Bell,  gently. 

Arethusa  argued,  but  Mrs.  Bell  was 
adamant,  and  after  that  wild  airs  from 
the  opera  ceased  to  mingle  with  clerical 
dreams;  but  then  Arethusa  turned 
her  mind  to  literature  and  art,  and 
waylaid  the  irate  minister  at  every  turn 
in  order  to  discuss  aesthetics  with  him, 
while  Mrs.  Bell  vainly  tried  to  evolve 
plain-living  order  out  of  the  high- 
thinking  chaos  in  the  kitchen.  Clearly 
57 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

this  would  not  do,  and  they  were  forced 
to  part  with  Arethusa  with  some  re- 
gret, for  she  had  given  them  a  great 
deal  to  laugh  about  in  the  brief  days 
of  her  sojourn  with  them.  The  girl 
was  quite  sad  at  leaving  them. 

"I  was  so  glad  when  I  got  here," 
she  said,  simply.  "I  thought  you 
were  educated  folks,  and  that  we'd 
understand  each  other." 

These  household  treasures  had  all 
objected  more  or  less  strenuously  to 
the  existence  of  Baby  Bell,  but  none 
quite  as  vehemently  as  Number  Six. 
She  was  herself  the  first  of  a  family  of 
fourteen,  however,  and  may  naturally 
have  felt  some  anxiety  as  to  the  pos- 
sible overcrowding  of  the  globe  during 
her  immediate  lifetime. 

"I   like  your  place  real  well,"  she 

said,   earnestly,    "if  'twasn't  for  that 

baby.     I  come  here  first  'cause  I  liked 

the    looks    of    your   husband,    and    I 

58 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

don't  mind  you,  but  I  just  can't  put 
up  with  that  baby." 

"What  would  you  like  me  to  do 
about  it?"  inquired  Mrs.  Bell,  in  a 
tone  of  ominous  calm.  "Would  you 
like  me  to  kill  him  off?" 

The  girl  looked  shocked.  "Oh, 
no,  ma'am!  But  if  I  was  you,  I  cer- 
tainly would  try  soothin'  syrup.  Lots 
of  women  does  that.  My  mother  had 
a  rule  that  made  a  gallon  at  a  time. 
You'd  sleep  better  nights,  and  things 
would  stay  done  daytimes,  too." 

But  Mrs.  Bell  reasoned  with  Wil- 
helmina,  and  proved  conclusively  to 
her  own  satisfaction  that  soothing  syrup 
was  slow  murder,  and  Wilhelmina 
said,  "My!  ain't  that  awful?"  And 
after  that  delightful  calm  descended 
upon  the  Bell  household,  until  Mrs. 
Bell  discovered  one  day,  by  the  luck- 
iest accident,  that  Wilhelmina  had 
taken  to  syrup-soothing  the  baby  on 
59 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

her  own  account.  The  doctor  stayed 
by  him  for  some  hours,  and  said  when 
he  went  away  that  it  had  been  a 
pretty  close  call,  and  Wilhelmina  de- 
parted an  hour  or  so  later  to  seek 
another  and  a  childless  sphere  of  use- 
fulness. 

Number  Seven  inaugurated  her  term 
by  a  series  of  climaxes  and  anti-cli- 
maxes that  proved  conclusively  that 
it  was  misapplied  energy  to  reason 
from  cause  to  effect  or  backward  in 
her  case.  The  first  morning  she  raised 
an  issue  on  the  subject  of  roasts,  and 
stuck  to  it.  They  were  always  cooked 
in  the  frying-pan  on  the  top  of  the 
stove. 

"But  they  would  be  raw  inside," 
objected  Mrs.  Bell. 

"Then  fry  him  again,"  declaimed 
the  girl,  with  Scandinavian  calm. 

"But  it  would  be  burnt  black  out- 
side then." 

60 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

' ' Then  cut  him  black  off, ' '  suggested 
the  maiden,  resourcefully. 

Mrs.  Bell  looked  positively  danger- 
ous, but  Ingri  had  often  seen  people 
look  like  that,  and  she  was  undismayed. 

That  afternoon  a  visitor  claimed 
Mrs.  Bell  just  as  the  baby  was  dressed 
for  his  walk,  all  but  his  cap. 

"You'll  find  it  in  the  entry,  and  be 
sure  he's  warm  enough,"  said  Mrs. 
Bell,  hurriedly. 

He  was,  for  he  went  crowing  through 
the  streets  with  the  tea-cosy  on  top  of 
his  head.  Of  course  everybody  met 
him,  even  his  father,  who  wondered, 
with  masculine  brilliancy,  what  in  des- 
peration was  the  matter  with  the  child's 
head.  After  a  while  it  occurred  to  him. 

"Say,  Betty,"  he  began  when  he 
reached  home,  "I  met  Laurie  down 
town  with  a  girl.  He  looked  striking. " 

"Striking?"  repeated  Mrs.  Bell,  anx- 
iously. 

61 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

"Yes.  Kind  of  shako  effect  on  his 
head,  you  know.  Oh,  everybody  no- 
ticed it." 

"Shako?"  Mrs.  Bell  looked  alarmed. 
"See  here,  Douglas,  tell  me  this  in- 
stant what  you  mean." 

"Well,  Betty,  it  looked  like  the  tea- 
cosy,  but  perhaps  it  wasn't." 

Mrs.  Bell  groaned.  Then  she  went 
moodily  to  the  window  to  wait  for  the 
procession.  Presently  she  began  to 
laugh,  and  laugh  again. 

"Douglas,  what  shall  I  do  with  her?" 

"Drown  her,"  he  answered,  sol- 
emnly. "In  another  incarnation  she 
might  catch  on;  she  never  will  in 
this." 

When  the  girl  at  last  arrived,  with 
slow,  stately  step,  Mrs.  Bell  led  her 
into  the  pantry. 

"See!  This  is  the  pantry;  not  the 
entry.  This  is  the  tea-cosy.  This  is 
the  teapot;  the  tea-cosy  goes  on  the 
62 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

teapot  to  keep  it  hot.  Do  you  under- 
stand?" She  hung  the  cosy  back  on 
its  hook  above  the  teapot. 

The  girl  looked  abused.  "Boy's 
had  on  pod,"  she  repeated,  scornfully; 
but  she  absorbed  the  theory,  for  that 
evening,  when  she  brought  in  the 
coffeepot,  tall  and  slender,  it  was  clad 
in  the  tea-cosy,  short  and  stout. 

"Still,  after  all,  she's  logical,"  urged 
Mr.  Bell.  "I  never  could  understand 
myself  why  tea  should  be  kept  warm 
and  coffee  allowed  to  take  cold." 

"Oh,  logical!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Bell, 
contemptuously;  "she's  logical  enough 
to  burn  the  house  down  so  as  to  have 
a  good  fire  to  get  the  dinner  by." 

After  supper  Mr.  Bell  recalled  the 
step-ladder  from  oblivion,  and  climbed 
up  to  repair  the  bell,  which  was  slightly 
out  of  order.  When  he  hoped  he  had 
finished,  he  called  to  the  girl,  who  had 
watched  his  proceedings  with  great 
63 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

interest.  "Now,  Ingri,  run  out  to  the 
front  door  and  see  if  it  will  go." 

In  a  moment  the  bell  whanged  wildly 
around  as  if  it  had  been  struck  by  a 
social  cyclone,  and  then  there  was  a 
deadly  calm. 

"Douglas!"  screamed  Mrs.  Bell, 
from  the  head  of  the  stairs,  "what  are 
you  doing  down  there?" 

'  'Trying  to  pray  for  grace  to  bear  it, ' ' 
answered  Mr.  Bell,  fiercely;  "for  I 
know  that  donkey  is  lying  on  her  back 
in  the  middle  of  the  road,  taking  deadly 
aim  at  the  zenith  with  my  bell-handle. ' ' 

But  she  was  not,  for  she  met  Mrs. 
Bell  half-way  down  the  hall,  firmly 
gripping  the  handle,  with  about  three 
feet  of  wire  trailing  behind  her. 

' '  I  got  him  ;  he  go, ' '  she  said,  cheer- 
fully displaying  the  wreck. 

"Still,  Douglas,  I  think  she's  logical, 
you  know,"  said  Mrs.  Bell,  cruelly,  as 
she  vainly  tried  to  soothe  her  husband's 
64 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

angry  passions.  "You  told  her  to  see 
if  the  bell  would  go,  and  she  did,  and — 
it  went." 

"Well,  I  guess  she'd  better  go,  too, 
if  she  values  her  health,"  said  Mr. 
Bell,  sullenly;  "for  I  warn  you,  Betty, 
she'll  never  flourish  under  the  same 
roof  with  me.  And  if  I  were  you,  I'd 
find  out  all  she  knows  on  the  subject 
of  gas  before  she  goes  to  bed,  or  she'll 
blow  it  out  sure  and  get  herself  asphyx- 
iated." 

Mrs.  Bell  did.  She  went  through  a 
little  drill  again,  when  the  girl  came 
and  asked  her  fora"lamb-b"  to  go  to 
bed  with. 

"Gas  is  much  safer  than  a  lamp. 
This  is  the  gas.  This  is  the  match. 
This  is  where  you  strike  the"  match; 
no,  never  on  the  paper  or  the  bed. 
This  is  where  you  turn  it  on.  This 
is  how  it  lights.  That  is  how  it 
burns." 

65 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

"Burns  what?"  asked  the  girl,  sus- 
piciously. 

"Why,  the  gas,  of  course." 

"I  dought  you  said  dot  was  der 
gozz,"  objected  the  girl,  grasping  the 
pipe  like  a  Samson. 

"No,  this  is  the  gas, "  sighed  Mrs. 
Bell,  wearily,  impaling  the  flame  on  a 
hat-pin.  "And  this  is  how  you  turn 
it  off.  And  this  is  when  it's  out." 

"Oud,"  repeated  the  maiden,  duti- 
fully. 

"Now,  if  you're  afraid  of  it,"  said 
Mrs.  Bell,  as  .she  lighted  it  again, 
"I'll  come  in  and  put  it  out  when  you 
are  in  bed." 

But  the  girl  snorted  dangerously. 
"No,  no!  I  do  dot  for  meinselv." 

"Very  well;  but  be  sure  you  don't 
blow  it  out,"  urged  Mrs.  Bell  for  the 
fiftieth  time. 

"Blow    him     oud,"    repeated    the 
scholar,  obediently,  and  retired. 
66 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

But  she  did,  just  the  same,  and  was 
discovered  half  an  hour  later  frantic- 
ally trying  to  climb  the  bare  wall  of 
her  bedroom,  apparently  under  the 
impression  that  the  ceiling  afforded  the 
safest  means  of  exit,  and  screaming 
hysterically : 

"Oh,  .led  me  oud!  Save  me! 
I'm  smudderin'!  Murder!  Help! 
Oh,  oh!" 

She  was  rescued  from  an  odorous 
death,  but  she  refused  to  stay  in  the 
house  another  hour,  "mit  beobles  vot 
did  such  tings,"  and  Mr.  Bell  was 
finally  forced  to  escort  her  to  her 
home,  a  mile  and  a  half  out  of  town. 

When  he  returned,  a  good  deal 
sooner  than  Mrs.  Bell  expected  him, 
he  entertained  her  with  a  very  suspi- 
cious account  of  his  trip. 

"Oh,  it's  a  cold  night,  my  dear; 
fifteen  below  zero,  I  should  judge;  and 
I  walked  fast,  yes,  very  fast,  until  we 
67 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

reached  the  Mile  Bridge,  when  I 
stopped  and  told  that  Swedish  gym- 
nast that  I  guessed  the  home  of  her 
'barents'  was  just  where  it  always  had 
been,  but  that  if  she  had  any  difficulty 
in  locating  it  I  hoped  she'd  let  me 
know  to-morrow.  Yes,  she  made  re- 
marks ;  there  was  the  force  of  a  Gatling 
gun  about  them,  but  I  merely  said 
good  by,  and  came  away." 

"But,  Douglas,  she'll  lose  her  way, 
and  freeze  to  death." 

"I  shouldn't  wonder,"  he  said, 
hopefully,  and  went  to  sleep. 

And  Mrs.  Bell  never  could  arrive  at 
the  actual  facts  about  that  excursion, 
for  the  mere  mention  of  it  always 
served  to  fire  both  Mr.  Bell's  temper 
and  his  imagination. 

But  the  next  morning  the  domestic 

sky  was    clouded,   for  the   baby    was 

cross,  and  the  bread  was  frozen,  and 

the  fire  was  cranky,  and  as  they  had 

68 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

forgotten  to  put  out  the  pan  for  the 
milkman  when  he  came  around  about 
five  o'clock,  there  was  no  milk  for 
breakfast.  When  at  last  Mrs.  Bell 
sat  down  beside  the  waters  of  the 
dishpan  and  wept,  Mr.  Bell  jammed 
his  hat  on  his  head  and  went  out,  with 
the  desperate  air  of  a  man  determined 
to  do  something,  or  die  in  the  attempt, 
at  least. 

When  he  returned,  some  hours  later, 
he  had  the  aspect  of  one  who  has  con- 
quered fate  in  a  face-to-face  conflict. 

"I'd  like  some  lunch,  quick,"  he 
said  to  Mrs.  Bell;  "and  then  I'm  off, 
and  you  needn't  expect  me  back  until 
I  get  here  with  Jeanie." 

"Jeanie!  But  who's  Jeanie,  I'd  like 
to  know?" 

"She's  her  aunt's  niece;    and   her 

aunt  says  her  people  won't  want  to  let 

her  come,  but  that  if  I  just  sit  right 

down  and  say  I've  come  to  stay  untU 

69 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

Jeanie  goes  back  with  me,  she  guesses 
I'll  get  her." 

"Now,  Douglas!" 

"All  right !  You'll  see.  But  she  lives 
ten  miles  out,  and  if  I  have  to  sit  there 
long,  it  may  be  some  time  before  I  get 
back." 

It  was  dark  when  he  returned,  but 
he  had  Jeanie  with  him.  Mrs.  Bell 
gasped  when  she  saw  her. 

"Why,  Douglas,  she's  a  child!" 

"Yes;  about  thirteen  in  years,  but 
quite  thirty  in  experience." 

"Thirteen!"  Mrs.  Bell  sniffed  con- 
temptuously. "And  such  a  looking 
girl,  Douglas!  Such  a  chunk!" 

"Oh,  she  isn't  a  show-case  beauty, 
Betty.  But  they  say  she's  all  wool 
and  a  yard  wide,  and  warranted  fast 
color,  and  guaranteed  good  wearing, 
and  thirteen  to  the  dozen  every  time, 
Betty." 

"Well,  she  looks  to  me  for  all  the 
70 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

world  like  a  home-made  rag  doll.  Still, 
perhaps  she'll  do." 

And  Jeanie  did  "do."  Sometimes 
extraordinarily  well,  and  occasionally 
quite  ill;  but  always  with  an  eye  sin- 
gle to  the  interests  of  Baby  Bell,  with 
whom  she  had  established  free-mason- 
ical  relations  from  the  instant  of  her 
entrance  into  his  home.  Her  affection 
was  of  the  passionate,  exclusive  kind, 
and  she  speedily  identified  herself  so 
completely  with  the  household  which 
she  served  that  her  hand  was  against 
every  man,  woman,  and  child,  particu- 
larly baby,  outside  of  it.  Barely  to 
suggest  to  her  that  any  other  baby 
possessed  some  slight  claim  to  beauty 
or  sweetness  was  to  set  her  tongue 
wagging  at  both  ends  in  bitter  dispar- 
agement of  such  ludicrous  statements 
about  any  child,  save  only  and  forever 
Baby  Bell. 

She  had  a  stringent  shrewdness  in 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

dealing  with  the  outside  world  which 
Mrs.  Bell  found  sometimes  embarrass- 
ing, but  always  edifying. 

"Did  you  have  money  enough  to 
pay  for  the  groceries,  Jeanie?" 

"Yes,  ma'am;  I  made  it  do." 

"Made  it  do?" 

"Yes,  ma'am.  That  black-hearted 
villyun  of  a  grocer  wanted  twenty  cents 
for  his  eggs,  but  I  just  said  to  him, 
'I'll  take  a  dozen,  but  I'll  no  be  givin' 
ye  more  than  fifteen  cents  for  them, 
for  that's  all  I've  got,  and  it's  a  great 
deal  more  than  they're  worth,  anyway,' 
The  store  was  full  of  people,  and  they 
laughed,  the  triflin'  things,  but  I 
didn't  weary  myself  noticin'  them." 

She  rigorously  measured  and  re- 
measured  the  milk  before  the  milk- 
man's eyes  every  time  he  brought  it, 
and  she  told  the  gas-meter  man  that 
he  was  a  hardened  old  Ananias-and- 
Sapphira,  and  was  destined  to  be  eter- 
72 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

x 

nally  smothered  in  the  fumes  out  of 
which  he  had  cheated  people  here  on 
earth.  Nothing  escaped  her  small, 
black,  anxious  eyes;  she  had  the 
natural  gifts  of  a  born  shrew.  She 
soon  became  a  terror  to  all  the  pranking 
small  boys  in  the  neighborhood.  Other 
people's  windows  might  be  broken  by 
stray  stones;  the  Bells'  were  only 
broken  once  after  Jeanie  took  their 
domestic  affairs  in  hand.  That  time 
she  caught  the  boy,  and  dragged  him 
to  the  kitchen,  and  held  him  there, 
helpless  prey  to  an  eloquence  more 
awful  than  any  "punching,"  while  for 
one  long  quarter-hour  she  pictured  to 
him  the  horrors  of  his  downward  career 
from  the  moment  he  threw  that  stone 
until  he  fell  from  the  gallows  plump 
into  perdition. 

She  had  not  been  in  Mrs.  Bell's  em- 
ploy a  month  before  she  had  discovered 
the  actual  and  aspirational  standing  of 
73 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

everybody  in  Sand  Harbor,  but  she 
had  a  method  of  reassigning  them  to 
a  status  of  her  own  which  was  very 
spicy. 

"Oh,  there  goes  that  Mrs.  Oblender; 
and  she  pretends  to  believe  that  every- 
body else  believes  that  she's  a  lady." 

"But,  Jeanie,  I'm  sure  she's  a  very 
kind-hearted  woman,"  said  Mrs.  Bell, 
reproachfully. 

"Kind-hearted!  H'm!  She  needs 
to  be,  to  put  up  with  herself.  Just 
look  at  her  now,  airing  herself  around 
like  a  great  peacock!  Poor  silly! 
Don't  she  know  that  if  a  peacock  had 
more  head  to  keep  brains  enough  in, 
he'd  have  less  tail?" 

"But,  Jeanie,  Mr.  Bell  says  she — " 

"Why,  of  course  he  does,"  inter- 
rupted Jeanie,  suavely.  "A  man  can't 
never  tell  a  woman  from  her  petti- 
coats." 

Jeanie  was  Scotch — and  sorry  for  it. 
74 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

She  cultivated  Americanisms  with  a 
zeal  that  sometimes  produced  startling 
results. 

"Is  the  minister  at  home?"  blandly 
inquired  a  clerical-looking  person  at 
the  door  one  day. 

But  Jeanie  had  seen  that  sort  before, 
and  shrewdly  suspected  his  coat-tails 
of  harboring  a  subscription  book. 

"No,  he  ain't,"  she  said,  firmly. 
"He's  gone  to  preach  the  sermon  at 
the  State  Association,  and  anybody 
but  a  blame  book-tramp  would  have 
known  it." 

But  he  was  not  a  "blame  book- 
tramp";  he  was  one  of  the  biggest 
toads  in  the  ecclesiastical  puddle,  him- 
self on  the  way  to  the  gathering  in 
question.  Fortunately,  he  had  a  royal 
sense  of  humor,  and  Mr.  Bell  and  the 
Association  heard  the  joke  a  little 
later. 

"But,  you  know,  Jeanie,  it  might 
75 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

have  been  fatal,"  said  Mrs.  Bell, 
solemnly.  "You  must  exercise  a  great 
deal  of  discretion  about  answering  the 
door." 

"Discretion!"  echoed  Jeanie,  in  a 
tone  of  grievance.  "And  then  when 
I  let  the  scented-soap  peddler  in  last 
week,  because  he  was  dressed  like  a 
gentleman,  and  smelt  like  one,  too, 
Mr.  Bell  wasn't  pleased,  either." 


CHAPTER   IV 

"Jeanie's  aunt  was  here  this  after- 
noon, Douglas,  and  she  says  that  Miss 
Bradney  is  coming  home  the  end  of 
this  week." 

"Oh!" 

Mrs.  Bell  surveyed  her  husband  for 
a  moment  in  silence;  then  she  shook 
her  fist  at  him. 

"Douglas,  what  did  I  say  to  you?" 

Mr.  Bell  dragged  his  eyes  off  his 
book,  and  looked  guiltily  at  his  wife. 
Then  he  brightened  up,  and  said, 
briskly : 

"Yes,  dear;  how  much  do  you 
want?  Will  a  couple  of  dollars  do? 
It's  all  I've  got  in  the  house." 

Mrs.  Bell  snorted. 

"Douglas,  do  you  think  I  can't 
77 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

come  near    you    without    wanting   to 
hold  you  up?" 

But  she  was  bursting  with  intelli- 
gence, and  could  not  afford  to  be  cruel 
to  herself,  just  then,  for  the  mere  sake 
of  properly  disciplining  her  husband. 

' '  Just  think,  dear. "  (" That's  what 
I  was  trying  to  do,"  muttered  Mr. 
Bell,  rebelliously.)  "She  says  Miss 
Bradney  is  really  engaged  to  old  Mrs. 
Hessemer's  son — you  know,  his  father 
used  to  be  Mr.  Bradney 's  foreman  for 
years  and  years.  Just  think  of  that!" 

Mr.  Bell  compelled  his  mind  to  bear 
on  the  subject,  and  then  said,  weakly, 
"Well?" 

At  that  Mrs.  Bell  simply  pounded 
him.  "Well!"  she  echoed,  scornfully. 
"As  if  such  a  thing  could  be  well, 
goosey.  Why,  it's  awful.  Even  Mrs. 
McAlpine,  one  of  the  Hessemer's  own 
class,  as  you  might  say,  sympathizes 
entirely  with  Mrs.  Bradney." 
78 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

"Oh,  I  dare  say.  There's  sometimes 
nobody  quite  so  jealous  of  what  we 
call  the  working  people  as  some  other 
working  people." 

"Of  course  he's  not  a  workingman, 
Douglas.  Mrs.  McAlpine  says  he's 
been  away  for  years  at  college,  and 
that  he's  a  professor,  or  going  to  be, 
or  something  like  that." 

"Well,  then,  what's  anybody  got 
cramps  about?"  demanded  Mr.  Bell, 
belligerently.  "Where  can  you  find  a 
nicer,  more  intelligent  woman  in  our 
whole  parish  than  Mrs.  Hessemer? 
And  wait!  Why,  somebody  told  me 
quite  lately  that  if  Bradney  hadn't 
been  as  grasping  as  a  pair  of  pincers, 
Hessemer  never  would  have  lived  and 
died  just  foreman  of  the  mills." 

"But  you   see,    Douglas,   he  did," 

said  Mrs.  Bell,  from  the  unsentimental 

standpoint     of     cold     fact.     "And     I 

think  it's  just  awful  for  Mrs.  Bradney. 

79 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

Of  course  that's  why  Miss  Bradney's 
been  away  all  this  time." 

"But  I  don't  see  why,"  objected 
Mr.  Bell,  stubbornly. 

"Douglas,  can't  you  see  that  it's 
horrible  for  them  to  be  alone  together 
under  such  circumstances?" 

"No,  I  should  think  it  would  be 
nice.  Women  ought  to  be  thankful 
enough  when  they  get  fine,  promising 
young  fellows  to  burden  themselves  up 
with  their  useless  old  daughters.  And 
I  hope  he'll  get  a  pot  of  money  for  all 
his  trouble." 

"Douglas,  you're  as  disgusting  as — 
as — a  Mormon,"  said  Mrs.  Bell,  indig- 
nantly. But  in  a  minute  she  laughed, 
and  her  husband  kissed  her,  and  then 
she  went  on  again. 

"You  see,  Miss  Bradney  simply 
won't  give  him  up,  and  when  she's  at 
home  she  and  her  mother  hardly  ever 
speak. ' ' 

80 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

"Then  I  should  think  she'd  stay 
away." 

"Yes,  but  Mrs.  Bradney  has  sent 
for  her.  She  has  been  in  New  York, 
studying  art." 

"Heart,  you  mean,"  suggested  Mr. 
Bell,  frivolously,  but  his  wife  froze 
him  with  a  look. 

After  this  Mrs.  Bell  saw  Miss  Brad- 
ney in  church  several  times,  and 
studied  her  with  furtive  curiosity. 

"It's  her  hair, "  she  announced  with 
conviction  to  Mr.  Bell  one  Sunday  at 
dinner. 

"Oh,  I  hope  so,"  he  retorted, 
quickly.  "In  one  so  young — really, 
store  hair  would  seem  out  of  char- 
acter." 

' '  Now,  Douglas,  you  know  quite  well 
what  I  mean.  It's  her  hair  that  makes 
her  look  like  that.  She  really  wouldn't 
be  much  without  it." 

"No,  I  suppose  not."  Mr.  Bell 
81 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

passed  his  hand  experimentally  over 
his  own  head.  "I  don't  imagine  that 
I,  or  even  you,  Betty,  would  look  well 
entirely  bald.  As  a  test  of  beauty  I 
should  call  that  severe." 

Mrs.  Bell  loftily  ignored  these  re- 
marks, and  maintained  a  stony  silence 
while  she  drank  a  cup  of  coffee. 

"I  never  saw  such  delicious  hair — 
great  pale  gold  masses  of  it  rippling 
back  from  her  face;  and  then  that 
lovely  black  velvet  hat  on  top  of  it — 
why,  Douglas,  she  just  looked  like  a 
sad,  sweet  Madonna  this  morning." 

"Yes,  I  dare  say,"  said  Mr.  Bell, 
with  a  desire  to  please.  "Still,  Betty, 
a  Madonna  in  a  modern  big  hat — it's 
rather  straining  on  the  imagination, 
isn't  it?" 

"Oh,  yes,  dear,  on  yours.  But 
you  know,  Douglas,  I  really  suppose 
her  hair  is  about  all  there  is  of  her." 

Mr.  Bell  looked  so  innocently  aston- 
82 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

ished  at  this  statement  that  Mrs.  Bell, 
scenting  mischief,  hurried  on. 

"I  mean,  dear,  that  kind  of  looking 
woman  is  always  stupid  or  spiteful  or 
stubborn,  or  something  of  that  sort." 

"Oh,  of  course,  dear,"  said  Mr.  Bell, 
largely.  But  his  eyes  were  twinkling, 
and  Mrs.  Bell  felt  it. 

"It's  simply  ridiculous,"  she  said, 
severely.  "I  believe  you  would  actu- 
ally uphold  that  girl  in  marrying  on  a 
beggarly  salary,  or  none  at  all  for  that 
matter — now  what  are  you  laughing 
at?" 

Mr.  Bell  became  instantly  meek. 
"Oh,  nothing,  dear.  I  was  only  think- 
ing how  wise,  worldly  wise,  a  maiden 
becomes  as  soon  as  she  is  married  her- 
self." 

Mrs.  Bell  blushed.  "Well,  Douglas, 
I  think  our  case  was  entirely  different." 

"Yes,  to  be  sure,  dear.  It  always 
is,  I  believe." 

83 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

A  few  days  after  this  Mrs.  Bell,  call- 
ing at  the  Hill  House,  expressed  a 
desire  to  see  Miss  Bradney. 

"Perhaps  you  would  like  to  come 
with  me  to  the  studio,"  said  Mrs. 
Bradney.  "Hilary  is  busy  there  just 
now." 

They  found  the  girl,  enveloped  in  a 
big  apron,  kneeling  on  the  floor  in 
front  of  a  little  cabinet.  She  rose 
with  a  quick  flush  of  embarrassment. 

"Oh,  is  it  wood-carving  you  do?" 
exclaimed  Mrs.  Bell.  "Why,  how 
lovely  that  is!" 

Miss  Bradney  smiled.  "It  really 
isn't,  you  know,"  she  said,  shyly. 

"It's  just  beautiful,"  contended 
Mrs.  Bell,  stoutly;  and  then  she 
swarmed  all  over  the  room,  with  a 
charming  audacity  which  was  fatal  to 
constraint,  pulling  out  this  and  that, 
and  bubbling  over  with  delighted  com- 
ment. 

84 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

"Yes,  Hilary  is  really  clever,"  said 
Mrs.  Bradney.  "I  am  very  anxious 
for  her  to  go  abroad  with  me  this  sum- 
mer, and  study  under  some  one  who 
knows  enough  to  teach  her  what  she's 
ready  to  learn  now." 

"Then  you  really  think  of  going 
away?" 

"Oh,  yes.     We  shall  go  in  April." 

Mrs.  Bradney  spoke  with  peculiar 
decision.  Mrs.  Bell  turned  to  the 
girl. 

"Won't  that  be  splendid?  Aren't 
you  wild  at  the  very  idea?" 

Perhaps  Hilary  felt  that  she  could 
truthfully  say  she  was,  but  she  hesi- 
tated, and  a  hot  wave  of  color  rose 
cruelly  across  her  pale  cheeks.  "I 
don't  know,"  she  said  at  last,  and  then 
she  began  to  gather  up  her  tools  ner- 
vously, and  Mrs.  Bell  soon  went  away, 
acutely  pondering  the  little  scene  upon 
which  she  had  stumbled. 
85 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

But  not  as  acutely  as  the  girl,  left 
alone  to  realize  silently  all  her  dread  of 
the  scheme  she  felt  slowly  coiling  about 
her.  This,  then,  accounted  for  the 
complete  change  in  her  mother's  man- 
ner since  her  return.  She  had  gone 
away  under  a  blast  of  scorn  and  repu- 
diation, but  she  came  home  again  to 
find  herself  once  more  the  idolized 
child,  whose  lightest  wish  must  be 
law.  But  she  had  not  been  deceived 
by  this  tender  air  of  relenting  in  her 
mother,  for  she  knew  instinctively 
that  it  boded  no  good  to  her  lover, 
and  there  still  lingered  in  her  the  pa- 
thetic belief  of  the  child  in  the  parent 
as  a  species  of  overruling  providence 
which  could  inevitably  accomplish  its 
purposes  somehow. 

And  now  suddenly  she  had  felt  the 
grip  of  the  iron  beneath  the  velvet, 
and  her  fears  quickly  filled  in  the  de- 
tails of  her  mother's  plan.  With  the 
86 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

ocean  once  put  between  herself  and 
her  lover,  there  seemed  a  chance  to 
her  excited  fancy  for  anything  to  hap- 
pen. Day  after  day  she  struggled  for 
courage  to  go  and  talk  over  her  diffi- 
culties with  the  minister's  wife,  who 
had  seemed  such  a  kind,  sympathetic 
little  woman,  but  then  her  pride  would 
recoil  from  the  thought  of  discussing 
her  mother  with  an  outsider. 

And  so  time  passed,  even  at  the 
Hill  House,  until  the  wild  winter  winds 
which  raged  around  it  yielded  to  softer 
airs,  and  the  aromatic  sweetness  of 
moist,  swelling  buds  rose  with  the  in- 
toxicating incense  of  spring  into  the 
brooding  blue  of  the  sky.  A  tumult 
of  awakening  life  stirred  the  long- 
silent  echoes  of  the  hills,  as  the 
shadows  deepened  beneath  the  quick- 
ening green  of  the  trees.  It  was  the 
dream-time  of  youth  again,  and 
Hilary's  heart  throbbed  in  unconscious 
87 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

rhythm  with  it.  Hugo?  Why,  how 
could  she  help  loving  him?  He  had 
been  part  of  her  life  from  the  time 
when  she  was  a  dainty  little  golden- 
haired  girl  in  white  frocks  with  pretty 
blue  shoulder-knots,  and  he  a  glad- 
eyed  boy,  a  great  favorite  in  those 
days  of  Mrs.  Bradney  herself.  She 
had  often  said  that  she  thought  as 
much  of  the  boy  as  her  husband  did 
of  his  father,  and  with  Hilary  any- 
where in  his  charge  her  mind  was  com- 
pletely at  rest. 

And  so  the  happy  years  had 
slipped  by  until,  at  seventeen,  Hugo 
went  away  to  college,  spurred  to  this 
course  by  Mr.  Bradney  himself. 

"I  tell  you,"  he  often  said  to  his 
wife,  "the  boy  will  do.  He'll  do." 

"Do  what?"  inquired  Mrs.  Bradney, 
rather  dryly,  at  last,  and  as  she  reflected 
in  after  years,  with  remarkable  appro- 
priateness. 

88 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

"Oh,  anything.  One  never  can 
tell.  He  must  have  a  chance,  though." 

But  it  was  four  or  five  years  before 
Hugo  and  Hilary  met  again.  Mrs. 
Bradney  took  care  of  that,  for  she  had 
suddenly  conceived  an  idea  which  was 
very  harassing  to  her,  and  eminently 
amusing  to  her  husband,  who  was  one 
of  those  men  with  supreme  confidence 
in  the  enduring  infancy  of  their  daugh- 
ters, and  a  possible  lover  for  his  "little 
Hilary"  impressed  him  as  the  most 
remote  of  prospects. 

Still,  after  this,  when  the  young  fel- 
low came  home  on  his  vacations  Hilary 
was  always  away,  and  when  at  last 
they  did  meet,  it  was  under  conditions 
so  changed  that  the  old  frank  compan- 
ionship was  clearly  impossible. 

It  was  the  year  after  Mr.  Bradney 's 

death  that  Hugo  boldly  called  at  the 

Hill  House,  having  learned  that  Miss 

Bradney  was  at  home.      But  it  was 

89 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

Mrs.  Bradney  who  received  the  tall, 
handsome  fellow,  with  a  manner  coldly 
suggestive  of  the  gulf  which  yawned 
between  them. 

"Yes,  Miss  Bradney  is  at  home,  but 
I  believe  she  is  busy  in  the  studio  just 
now,  and  she  would  not  care  to  be  dis- 
turbed. I  am  glad  to  hear  such  good 
accounts  of  you.  It  must  be  very 
gratifying  to  your  mother,  and  I  hope 
you  will  always  remember  what  great 
sacrifices  she  has  made  for  you." 

This  was  distinctly  patronizing,  and 
the  feel  of  it  proved  unexpectedly 
stimulating  to  the  young  man. 

"I  am  sorry  not  to  see  Hilary,"  he 
answered,  recklessly;  "and  as  to  my 
mother  —  well,  mother  knows,"  he 
added,  simply. 

Mrs.  Bradney  was  amazed  and  dis- 
concerted at  the  change  in  him.  For, 
apart  from  his  undoubted  gifts  in  the 
way  of  scholarship,  he  had  the  assured 
90 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

ease  of  a  well-bred  man  of  the  world. 
"Just  like  one  of  ourselves,"  she  ad- 
mitted, grudgingly,  to  herself.  But 
"Hilary!"  What  impertinence!  And 
in  view  of  all  these  circumstances,  it 
seemed  to  her  a  particularly  ill-timed 
dispensation  of  Providence  that  a 
sprained  ankle  should  keep  her  a  pris- 
oner just  when  she  most  needed  to  be 
free. 

"Oh,  was  that  Hessemer  boy  at 
church  this  morning?"  she  asked,  casu- 
ally, when  Hilary  came  home  on  the 
Sunday  following  his  call  at  the  Hill 
House. 

"Hugo  Hessemer?  No,  I  don't 
think  he  was,  but — "  The  girl  hesi- 
tated. For  some  reason  it  seemed  un- 
expectedly difficult  to  tell  her  mother 
what  she  had  not  dreamed  of  conceal- 
ing. 

"There!  Don't  talk  to  me,  dear; 
my  head  is  aching,"  said  Mrs.  Brad- 
9' 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

ney,  abruptly.  The  less  Hilary 
thought  about  the  boy  the  better. 
But  what  a  child  she  was.  It  would 
probably  never  occur  to  her  to  regard 
herself  in  the  light  of  a  great  "catch," 
whom  this  ambitious  youth  and  his 
mother  might  well  desire  to  land. 

And  as  the  days  and  weeks  went  by, 
and  Mrs.  Bradney's  vigilance  failed  to 
detect  any  sign  of  the  thing  she 
dreaded  most,  the  tension  of  her  anx- 
iety relaxed,  and  she  indulged  in  a 
comfortable  pride  in  her  daughter's 
dignified  perception  of  her  exalted 
position. 

And  yet  that  Sunday  had  seen  the 
germinating  of  a  tiny  seed  which  must 
have  lain  dormant  in  Hilary's  heart 
ever  since  those  halcyon,  unforgotten 
days  when  Hugo  had  been  her  little 
knight.  He  had  not  been  at  church, 
and  Hilary  had  not  seen  or  thought  of 
him  until  she  turned  from  the  town 
92 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

into  the  long,  quiet  Hill  Road,  with 
its  shade  so  deep  and  cool,  this  warm 
June  morning. 

She  stepped  lightly  along,  busy  with 
a  young  girl's  pretty  thoughts,  until 
suddenly,  stirred  by  some  swift  sense 
of  an  unseen  presence,  she  turned  her 
head. 

"Hugo!" 

"Oh,  Hilary!" 

But  after  that  first  eager  moment  it 
seemed  that  with  every  passing  instant 
they  drifted  farther  apart,  for  each  was 
startled  into  vague  dismay  at  the  great- 
ness of  the  change  in  the  other,  and 
presently  they  found  themselves  talk- 
ing in  a  way  distressingly  unlike  the 
happy  hand-in-hand  style  of  their 
memories. 

"It  is  some  time  since  we  met,"  said 
Mr.  Hessemer,  with  the  dignity  befit- 
ting a  distinguished  college  career. 

"Yes;  it  must  be  nearly  five  years," 
93 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

replied  Miss  Bradney,  with  the  reserve 
adhering  to  a  long  dress  and  grown-up 
hair. 

By  and  by  she  glanced  at  him  tim- 
idly. How  handsome  he  was,  and  how 
cleverly  he  talked,  when  he  let  himself 
out  a  little,  about  his  life  in  the  uni- 
versity. 

And  as  Hugo  gradually  recovered 
from  his  subtle  sense  of  disappoint- 
ment in  this  strange,  this  shy-eyed 
Hilary,  he  was  thrilled  by  a  new  and 
exquisite  sense  of  her  maidenhood. 
He  had  suffered  for  the  last  year  or 
two  from  the  very  young  man's  deep 
and  incisive  knowledge  of  women  and 
their  ways,  and  among  the  cigars  and 
his  chums  he  had  said  some  very  quot- 
able things  about  the  fair  and  frail. 

But  he  forgot  all  about  that  now, 

when  he  looked    down  at  the  young 

girl  beside  him,  in  her  soft  white  gown, 

with  her  sweet  flushed  face,  now  seek- 

94 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

ing  his,  and  now  shyly  hidden  beneath 
her  big  white  hat. 

"Do  you  remember,"  he  said,  when 
they  paused  in  the  moment  of  part- 
ing, "the  little  toys  I  used  to  whittle 
out  for  you,  and  the  cradle  I  made  for 
Araminta  Maria?" 

"Remember!"  She  lifted  her  eyes 
to  him  in  smiling  protest.  "Why, 
Hugo,  I've  got  them  all  now." 

He  walked  away  from  her  that  Sun- 
day morning,  stirred  by  the  first  vague 
thrill  of  an  emotion  unrecognized,  but 
already  passionately  sacred  to  him. 

And  the  inevitable  climax  of  it  all 
came  a  year  later,  just  before  he  sailed 
for  Germany  to  take  his  post-graduate 
course,  when  he  walked  into  Mrs. 
Bradney's  presence  one  evening  with 
Hilary's  fluttering  fingers  in  his  own 
strong  grasp. 

Mrs.  Bradney  looked  at  her  daugh- 
ter. 

95 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

"You!  You  want  to  marry  this — " 
But  her  proud  voice  failed  her  for 
a  moment.  "And  may  I  ask 
why?" 

"Because  I  love  him,"  flashed 
Hilary,  with  quivering  lips. 

"Love!"  Mrs.  Bradney  laughed, 
but  there  was  no  smile  in  her  glitter- 
ing eyes.  "Don't  talk  to  me  of  such 
nonsense." 

"Oh,  mother!  didn't  you  love 
father?" 

There  was  a  pause.  Then  Mrs. 
Bradney  said,  deliberately: 

"Your  father  was  a  gentleman." 

Until  now  there  had  been  no  oppor- 
tunity for  Hugo  to  speak,  for  after  his 
first  quiet  statement  to  Mrs.  Bradney 
she  had  turned  her  back  on  him  in 
furious  contempt  of  his  presence. 

But  now  he  stepped  toward  Hilary, 
and  taking  her  cold  hands  in  his,  he 
said,  with  an  accent  which  had  a  new 
96 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

quality  of  torture  for  the  poor  mother's 
heart : 

"Hilary,  have  I  asked  too  much?  Is 
the  sacrifice  too  great?  I  never  real- 
ized until  now  the  meaning  of  it  all  for 
you." 

For  one  eternal  moment  he  tasted 
again  all  the  cruelty  of  suspense,  for 
Hilary  said  nothing.  She  was  looking 
at  him  with  eyes  full  of  the  long  last 
questions  of  the  woman  about  to  merge 
her  future  in  the  untried  current  of  an- 
other life. 

Then,  with  a  little  sigh,  suddenly, 
appealingly,  she  stretched  out  her  flut- 
tering hands  to  his  strong  grasp. 

And  after  that  between  her  mother 
and  herself  there  had  grown  up  the 
silence  too  bitter  to  be  borne,  and  at 
last  she  had  gone  away  from  home. 
But  now,  since  her  return,  the  com- 
plete change  in  her  mother's  manner 
toward  her,  coupled  with  this  new  idea 
97 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

of  a  trip  abroad,  filled  her  mind  with 
sudden  alarms.  She  wrote  her  lover 
long,  tender  letters,  in  which  there 
was  often  a  vague,  pathetic  strain ;  for 
she  felt  herself  adrift  from  the  old 
familiar  moorings,  and  already  far  out 
upon  the  uncertain  deeps  of  the  future. 

She  had  her  real  anxieties,  too, 
about  him,  for  beneath  his  light  state- 
ment that  in  spite  of  his  persistent  ad- 
vertisement of  himself  as  a  brilliant 
and  epoch-making  genius  the  world 
did  not  seem  to  be  in  any  feverish 
quest  of  his  services,  she  divined  his 
own  real  anxiety  about  his  future. 

And  then  at  last  there  came  a  morn- 
ing when  Mrs.  Bradney  said,  with  a 
new,  hard  note  in  her  voice : 

"Hilary,  I  find  we  could  sail  on  the 
Gascoigne  on  the  fifteenth.  I  think 
I  shall  write  this  morning  to  secure  our 
staterooms." 

Hilary  started  as  if  she  had  been 
98 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

struck.  Her  mother's  cold,  bright 
eyes  held  her  for  a  moment  with  a 
kind  of  fascination;  then  she  looked 
away,  and  said  in  a  low,  tremulous 
voice : 

"No,  mother,  I  can't  go." 
Mrs.    Bradney  said    nothing.      She 
stood    there,    silent    and    controlled, 
studying  the  girl's  face,  until   Hilary 
spoke  again. 

"No,  mother,  I  don't  want  to  go." 
"So  you  have  said  a  great  many 
times,  I  believe,  and  I  have  patiently 
waited  weeks  for  you  to  come  to  your 
senses.  It  will  be  July  now  before 
we  can  sail,  anyway,  but  I  will  give 
you  until  this  evening  to  reconsider 
what  you  have  said." 

It  was  a  day  of  torture  to  Hilary, 
and  it  ended  with  a  scene  so  passion- 
ate that  it  ruptured  irrevocably  the 
exquisitely  delicate  relations  between 
the  mother  and  her  child. 
99 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

"You  will  not  go?  You  actually 
defy  me?" 

"Mother,  I  can't  go.  You  know 
you  are  only  planning  this  as  a  means 
of  separating  Hugo  and  me." 

Hilary  was  white  and  quivering, 
but  she  was  as  aroused  now  as  her 
mother. 

"Yes,  you  are  quite  right  about  that. 
If  I  could  separate  you  in  no  other 
way,  I  would  see  you  in  your  grave 
before  I  would  see  you  his  wife." 

In  the  total  collapse  of  her  plans 
Mrs.  Bradney  seemed  to  find  a  bitter 
satisfaction  in  flinging  the  secrets  of 
them  at  her  shrinking  daughter. 

"Oh,  mother!  Is  it  nothing  to 
you  that  I  love  Hugo?" 

The  sobs  rose  up  in  Hilary's  throat. 
' '  Do  you  care  nothing  about  my  hap- 
piness?" 

"Happiness!"  echoed  Mrs.  Brad- 
ney, scornfully.  "No,  I  don't  care 

100 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

anything  about  what  you  call  your 
happiness.  Happiness!  Love!  When 
you're  a  few  years  older,  child,  you'll 
find  it  takes  something  more  than 
moonshine  and  cheap  caresses  to  make 
a  woman  happy.  Another  man  could 
have  loved  you  just  as  prettily,  and 
have  given  you  a  fair  exchange  for  the 
privilege.  Men  are  very  much  alike, 
Hilary;  but  birth  or  breeding  and 
wealth  and  its  luxuries  are  extenuat- 
ing circumstances,  of  which  you  may 
learn  the  value  only  when  it  is  too 
late." 

"But,  mother,  you  married  father 
just  because  you  loved  him,  and  he 
was  so  poor  then." 

"Yes;  but  even  granting  that  your 
father  and  this — this  boy  could  be 
compared,  you  are  not  like  I  was. 
You  have  not  the  grit  and  the  back- 
bone to  stand  hardship." 

Hilary's  eyes  glistened.  "Mother," 

101 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

she  whispered,  "I  am  just  like  you. 
And  I  love  Hugo." 

The  sweet,  shy  word  stung  her 
mother. 

"She  loves  him!  Yes,  and  she  will 
be  his  obedient  'frau,'  ready  to  fetch 
and  carry  for  her  peasant  lord.  That's 
the  way  people  of  his  class  and  nation 
think  of  their  wives,  my  dear.  And 
children — bah!  it  makes  me  sick." 

Hilary  broke  down  in  tears.  Her 
heart  cried  out  for  her  lover,  but  this 
wrenching  asunder  of  her  own  and  her 
mother's  life  was  like  a  cruel  physical 
pain. 

After  this  the  old  silence  grew  again 
between  them  and  hardened  into  bit- 
terness, and  Hilary  began  to  long  for 
anything  rather  than  this  slow-drop- 
ping torture  of  suspense,  this  endless 
waiting  for  the  storms  which  never 
broke.  The  fair,  delicate  face,  en- 
framed in  its  pale  gold  hair,  began  to 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

lose  the  charm  of  its  young  curve,  the 
clear  cheek  no  longer  flushed  into 
elusive  beauty  at  the  sweetness  of  some 
betraying  thought,  and  the  shy,  pretty 
eyes  took  on  the  wild  look  of  a 
hunted  thing. 


103 


CHAPTER  V 

In  the  middle  of  the  night  Mrs.  Bell 
woke  suddenly.  She  wondered  why. 
Ha!  She  knew  why.  There  was  a 
man  downstairs,  a  burglar,  a  blood- 
thirsty brute.  Why,  she  could  hear 
him  plainly.  The  loose  board  in  the 
hall  flooring  creaked  under  his  stealthy 
step  like  a  door  with  a  cranky  hinge. 

Mrs.  Bell  lay  still  in  an  agony  of 
indecision.  A  week  before  she  would 
have  known  exactly  what  to  do.  She 
would  have  said:  "Douglas,  get  up! 
There's  a  man  downstairs." 

But  she  knew  better  than  to  do  that 
now.  For  as  they  had  walked  home 
from  church  on  Sunday  with  Mr. 
Seerley,  he  had  strikingly  described  to 
them  a  recent  murder  in  St.  Louis, 
104 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

and  had  philosophized  on  the  case  in  a 
manner  all  his  own. 

"It's  always  the  fool  woman  in  the 
business,"  he  had  insisted.  "It's  the 
nature  of  a  woman  to  be  everlastingly 
on  the  spy.  Any  boy  that's  old 
enough  to  fit  pants  can  tell  you  that. 
That's  why  they  always  sleep  with  one 
ear  open,  and  naturally  hear  the  burglar 
first.  Then  it's,  'John,  John,  get  up 
quick!  There's  a  man  downstairs. 
Sic  him,  John!'  ' 

He  looked  at  Mrs.  Bell  with  a 
twinkle  in  his  eye.  And  she  was 
afraid  she  blushed.  And  she  was  so 
angry,  too.  Because,  of  course,  that's 
just  what  she  would  have  done.  And 
why  not,  indeed? 

"Now,  if  that  woman  would  only 
use  her  headpiece,"  continued  Mr. 
Seerley,  "she'd  know  enough  to  lie 
still  and  let  John  keep  right  on  snor- 
ing. And  she'd  let  that  burglar  load 
105 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

on  all  the  bric-a-brac  he  took  a  fancy 
to,  and  get  away  quietly  and  peace- 
ably, when  he  got  ready,  after  he'd 
had  a  good,  square  meal  in  the  pantry 
and  a  tip-top  booze  in  the  wine-cellar. 
Then  there'd  have  been  nobody  hurt 
and  fewer  things  to  dust  next  day. 
But  no!  It  never  occurs  to  that 
woman  that  her  husband  is  worth  more 
than  all  that  bric-a-brac,  to  say  noth- 
ing of  the  solid  silver  and  all  the  loose 
change  in  his  pants  pocket,  until  she's 
got  him  shot. 

"So  what  does  this  fool  woman  do 
in  St.  Louis?  She  prods  John  in  the 
ribs  until  he's  glad  to  try  the  tender 
mercies  of  the  burglar  by  comparison ; 
then  she  jams  the  revolver  into  his 
hand  and  hustles  him  downstairs. 
And  when  he's  half-way  down  she 
lights  up  all  the  gas-jets  in  the  top 
hall,  so  the  burglar  can  see  just  where 
to  hit,  and  then — bang! 
106 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

"  'Have  you  killed  him,  John?' 

"  'Yes,  ma'am,'  says  the  burglar, 
politely;  and  then  she  faints,  and  he 
gets  comfortably  away  with  the  bric-a- 
brac,  after  all,  and  that's  the  last  of 
him. 

"It's  funny  to  me  a  woman  can't 
learn  that  a  burglar's  pretty  sure  to  be 
a  dead  shot,  which  her  husband  isn't, 
no  matter  what  he  may  have  told  her 
to  the  contrary ;  and  secondly,  that  a 
burglar  doesn't  want  to  shoot  if  he 
can  possibly  help  it.  Blood  isn't  any 
use  to  him.  He  wants  the  stuff,  and 
that's  all,  and  if  she's  got  any  sense, 
she'll  let  him  have  it  and  keep  still." 

But  to  this  arrangement  Mr.  Bell 
unexpectedly  objected. 

"Seems  to  me  it  would  require  quite 
an  outlay  of  self-control  to  lie  still  and 
keep  right  along  snoring  while  that 
caller  packed  your  outfit  into  his  Sara- 
toga in  peace." 

107 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

"Oh,  I  didn't  say  'twas  easy,"  pro- 
tested Mr.  Seerley,  laughing;  "but  if 
you  think  the  other  way's  easier  in  the 
long  run,  there's  nothing  to  hinder 
your  trying  it.  But  if  you  do  that, 
you  just  accept  my  advice,  and  tie  a 
feather  pillow  on  in  front  of  you  for  a 
breast-plate.  There  isn't  anything'll 
shed  a  bullet  like  a  feather  pillow." 

Every  detail  of  this  conversation 
recurred  to  Mrs.  Bell's  mind  with  star- 
tling clearness  as  she  lay  there  trem- 
bling, straining  her  ear  to  catch  the 
uncanny  sounds  below  stairs. 

But  oh!  she  must  call  Douglas. 
Why,  that  man  would  come  right  up 
and  shoot  them  in  their  beds.  She 
knew  he  would.  He'd  even  shoot 
Laurie — sweet,  innocent,  babbling  lit- 
tle Laurie. 

No,  he  wouldn't.  Mr.  Seerley  said 
they  never  did,  if  you  just  let  them 
alone  and  didn't  interfere  with  them. 
108 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

But  oh,  listen !  She  was  certain  he  was 
grabbing  all  the  silver  off  the  side- 
board. Her  housewifely  soul  took 
flame;  in  her  anguish  she  whispered 
ever  so  gently,  "Douglas!  Douglas!" 

But  Douglas  lay  dumb  as  a  door- 
mat to  her  terrors.  He  didn't  even 
afford  his  family  the  protection  of  a 
snore.  Smarting  under  a  sense  of  in- 
jury that  she,  poor  little  lonely  woman, 
should  be  sole  guardian  of  their  hearth 
and  home,  she  stretched  out  her  hand 
to  give  Douglas  a  warning  pinch  in 
the  darkness.  But  no !  She  snatched 
it  back.  She  would  be  noble,  and 
walk  in  the  way  of  wisdom  as  outlined 
by  Mr.  Seerley. 

And  let  all  her  silver  be  calmly  ap- 
propriated by  a  red-handed  villain 
without  so  much  as  a  protest  ? 

Never! 

She  might  have  to  die,  to  be  sure, 
but  she  wasn't  going  to  let  that  man 
109 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

have  it  all  his  own  way,  at  any 
rate. 

She  slipped  softly  out  of  bed,  and 
then  she  remembered  the  pillow. 
With  shaking  hands  she  tied  it  on  to 
herself,  and  thus  equipped  she  stole 
out  of  the  room  with  a  feather  duster 
in  one  hand  and  a  pitcher  of  water  in 
the  other.  She  had  always  known  she 
was  a  coward,  but  she  had  never  real- 
ized she  could  get  so  horribly  fright- 
ened as  she  was  now.  She  was  nearly 
smothered  by  the  pillow,  too.  Still, 
as  she  got  used  to  it,  it  was  wonderful 
what  a  sense  of  protection  it  gave. 
At  last  she  reached  the  dining-room 
on  legs  that  threatened  momentarily  to 
give  way  beneath  her.  But  there  was 
no  one  there.  Even  in  the  darkness 
she  was  sure  of  that. 

She  was  getting  braver.  With 
hardly  more  than  half  a  tremor  she 
opened  the  door  which  led  into  the 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

little  passage  between  the  dining-room 
and  kitchen. 

And  then  she  was  instantly  con- 
fronted by  a  broad  beam  of  light  which 
streamed  out  at  her  from  underneath 
the  kitchen  door. 

She  choked  with  terror,  but  without 
an  instant's  hesitation  she  opened  it 
and  stepped  into  the  brightly  lighted 
kitchen. 

There  at  the  table  sat  a  tramp  in 
active  enjoyment  of  the  ample  meal  he 
had  gathered  about  him.  Before  he 
could  collect  his  wits  Mrs.  Bell  was 
upon  him  with  the  water-pitcher  and 
the  feather  duster. 

"Oh,  you  bad  man !"  she  exclaimed. 
"How  dare  you?  Go  away!  Go 
away  at  once!  Aren't  you  ashamed 
of  yourself,  breaking  into  people's 
houses  in  the  middle  of  the  night  like 
this?" 

"See  here,  ma'am,  don't  ye  take  on 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

so,"  said  the  man,  earnestly.  "I 
didn't  break  in.  I  just  walked  in. 
The  door  wasn't  locked.  I  was 
hungry — awful  hungry.  Perhaps  you 
ain't  never  felt  that  way." 

He  had  risen  and  stood  towering  in 
front  of  her  like  a  big  abashed  school- 
boy caught  in  the  act. 

Mrs.  Bell  faced  him  sturdily,  the 
severity  in  her  face  gradually  relaxing 
as  they  talked  until  finally  she  looked 
as  sweet  and  sympathetic  as  if  she  were 
listening  to  her  best  friend's  tale  of 
woe.  And  she  had  never  felt  less 
afraid  of  anything  than  she  did  of 
that  man  from  the  moment  he  spoke 
to  her.  She  forgot  entirely  that  her 
toilet  consisted  of  one  pretty  pink 
night-dress  and  one  feather  pillow.  If 
the  fashion  struck  the  burglar  as  unus- 
ual, he  at  least  had  the  grace  to  take 
it  seriously. 

"Well,  if  you 're  hungry,"  said  Mrs. 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

Bell,  "sit  down  and  finish  your  meal. 
And  eat  all  you  can." 

But  he  looked  suspiciously  at  the 
door  behind  her. 

"No,  you  needn't  be  afraid. 
Nobody  else  is  awake.  And  besides, 
no  one  would  hurt  you  here.  This  is 
the  minister's  house.  You  say  that 
nobody  has  been  willing  to  give  you 
anything  to  eat  all  day.  I'm  sorry 
you  didn't  happen  to  come  here.  I 
always  tell  Jeanie  that  as  long  as  we 
have  food  ourselves  we  must  share  it 
with  any  one  who  has  not." 

The  tramp  looked  up  at  her  with  the 
frank  smile  of  a  boy. 

"N'yit  that  little  Scotch  gal  o' 
yourn  near  chawed  the  head  off'n 
me  to-day  'cause  I  asked  her  for  a 
bite.  That's  why  I  was  so  dead 
tickled  to-night  when  I  found  the 
door  'd  been  left  open  an*  the  pantry 
so  full." 

"3 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

"Oh,  Jeanie,  Jeanie!"  mourned 
Mrs.  Bell.  "I'm  so  sorry." 

She  had  all  the  air  now  of  the  most 
solicitous  hostess,  and  as  she  said 
afterward,  she  never  entertained  a 
guest  in  her  life  whom  she  took  such 
solid  comfort  in  feeding. 

And  while  he  fed  she  talked  to  him 
like  his  grandmother.  She  speedily 
unearthed  his  family  history,  and  dis- 
cussed it  with  a  sympathetic  interest 
which  melted  the  villain's  soul  within 
him. 

"It's  all  come  from  your  quarreling 
with  Susan  Moore,"  she  concluded  at 
length.  "Now  you'd  better  go  right 
back  and  tell  her  you're  sorry,  and 
begin  all  o — " 

Just  here  the  door  opened  and  Mr. 
Bell  walked  in.  As  long  as  he  lived 
he  would  remember  the  spectacle 
upon  which  his  eyes  alighted.  But 
before  he  could  adequately  grasp  all 
114 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

its  various  details  there  was  a  kaleido- 
scopic change  in  the  situation,  and  the 
"  burglar"  had  vanished  into  the  dark- 
ness of  night. 

"Oh,  Douglas!"  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Bell,  reproachfully.  "How  could  you? 
And  I  never  said  good  by  to  him. 
And  I  did  want  to  give  him  some  more 
advice  so  badly.  Poor  man!  I  don't 
believe  Susan  Moore  understands  him 
one  bit." 

Mr.  Bell  promptly  locked  the  kitchen 
door  after  the  speeding  guest.  Then 
he  sat  down  on  a  chair  and  began  to 
laugh.  And  the  longer  he  looked  at 
Mrs.  Bell  the  louder  he  laughed. 

"Well,  Betty,"  he  gurgled  at  last, 
"if  I  were  you,  I'd  undo  the  pillow 
and  lay  down  the  duster." 

Mrs.  Bell  gasped. 

"Oh,  Douglas,  I  forgot  all  about 
the  pillow!  Oh,  what  a  sight  I  look! 
Why,  what  did  that  man  think?  Oh, 
"5 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

I'm  so  ashamed!  But  I  was  so  fright- 
ened I  forgot  everything.  You  know 
I  heard  him.  And  Mr.  Seerley — you 
remember?" 

Mr.  Bell's  eyes  softened. 

"Oh,  you  poor  little  woman!  Why, 
Betty,  there  isn't  a  cowardly  bone  in 
your  body.  You  wee  bit  of  a  brave 
woman!" 

"Oh,  yes,  Douglas,  there  is!  You 
can't  think  how  frightened  I  was.  I 
thought  I'd  die  when  I  saw  the  light 
under  the  kitchen  door.  But  that  poor 
man!  He  was  so  hungry.  He  ate 
like  a  boy  at  a  church  supper.  Oh,  I 
wish  you  hadn't  come  quite  so  soon! 
There  were  some  things  I  did  want  to 
tell  him  so  badly.  I'd  just  enjoy 
talking  to  that  Susan  Moore.  She 
doesn't  begin  to  love  him  like  she 
ought." 

Mr.  Bell  had  another  paroxysm  all 
to  himself. 

116 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

" Betty,"  he  said  at  last,  solemnly 
enough,  "if  that  fellow  ever  forgets 
the  sermon  you've  preached  to  him 
to-night,  his  soul  isn't  worth  worrying 
about.  He's  seen  the  bravest,  truest, 
kindest  little  woman  he's  ever  likely 
to  meet  in  this  world,  and  I  don't 
believe  he  will  forget  it. ' ' 

"Or  the  pillow,  either,"  he  added 
presently,  with  another  burst  of  merri- 
ment. "But  say,  Betty,  the  next  time 
you  hear  a  burglar,  never  mind  Seer- 
ley.  You  just  punch  me  awake  to  a 
sense  of  my  duty.  I'd  like  a  show 
occasionally." 

"I  don't  know,  Douglas,"  she  an- 
swered, doubtfully.  "I  don't  believe 
you're  very  sympathetic,  dear." 

"No,  I  don't  believe  I  am,  for  a 
fact.  I  guess  this  fellow  can  thank 
his  stars  he  was  entertained  at  supper 
by  my  wife  and  not  by  me." 

"Now,  Douglas — " 
117 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

"All  right,  dear.  You're  the  pluck- 
iest little  woman  on  top  of  the  earth, 
and  I'm  the  proudest  man.  But  next 
time  you  punch  me." 


118 


CHAPTER   VI 

Out  in  the  warm  sunshine  summer 
was  silently  preparing  its  splendid  exit 
in  a  hundred  shades  of  scarlet  and 
gold.  Beneath  the  hazy  sky  late 
lingering  fruits  mellowed  into  purple 
and  crimson,  and  the  grain-crested 
fields  yielded  to  the  eager  reaper  their 
golden  abundance.  But  the  breath  of 
change  was  in  the  scented  air,  still 
thrilling  with  the  drowsy  note  of  bees 
and  brilliant  with  the  flight  of  unwea- 
ried wings.  For  beyond  the  rosy 
clouds  were  banked  the  cold  snows  of 
the  long  sleep  into  which  nature  was 
so  soon  to  sink. 

Mrs.  Bradney  shivered,  but  she  was 
not  thinking  of  the  coming  winter's 
chill ;  her  hurrying  thoughts  were  busy 
119 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

with  visions  of  herself  alone  in  the 
great  house,  with  its  echoing  memories 
of  weary  feet  long  rested  and  the 
silenced  music  of  clear  childish  voices, 
sweet  and  high. 

And  Hilary,  the  last  of  them  all, — 
was  Hilary  to  defy  her,  to  set  at 
naught  all  the  proud  traditions  of  her 
name  and  place?  An  angry  sob 
choked  her  throat.  Hilary  to  marry 
that  boy,  the  son  of  her  dead  father's 
foreman!  She  repeated  the  words 
slowly,  cruelly,  to  herself.  She  felt  a 
desperate  satisfaction  in  the  sting  of 
them. 

A  letter  lay  before  her,  which  she 
had  received  that  morning,  and  though 
her  first  impulse  had  been  to  destroy 
it  unopened,  she  had  ended  by  reading 
it  greedily. 

"  MY  DEAR  MRS.  BRADNEY: 

"  Your  daughter  and  I,  as  you  are  aware,  have 
now  been  engaged  for  a  long  time.  It  is  more 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

than  a  year  since  I  have  seen  her,  and  as  I 
intend  to  be  in  Sand  Harbor  shortly,  I  write  to 
ask   your  permission  to  call  upon  her  as  her 
accepted  and  acknowledged  future  husband. 
"Yours  faithfully, 

"  HUGO  HESSEMER." 

The  letter  had  a  malign  fascination 
for  her  now.  She  read  it  again  and 
again,  each  time  lashing  herself  into 
fresh  agony  over  the  outrageous  pre- 
sumption which  had  inspired  it.  But 
her  answer  met  the  case  adequately, 
she  thought. 

"Ma.  HUGO  HESSEMER, 

"Sir:  If  at  the  end  of  three  or  four  years 
you  have  actually  proved  yourself  to  be  all  that 
you  apparently  presume  yourself  to  be  now,  I 
may  then  possibly  consider  your  fitness  for  a 
marriage  with  my  daughter.  But  until  then  I 
must  refuse  any  further  consideration  of  the 
matter.  Yours  truly, 

"ORELLA  BRADNEY." 

Of  course,  she  did  not  mention  this 
correspondence  to  Hilary.  But,  natu- 
rally enough,  the  girl  did  not  long 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

remain  in  ignorance  of  it.  For  Mrs. 
Bradney's  letter,  coupled  with  the  fact 
that  he  was  at  last  actually  appointed 
to  the  professorship  which  he  had  been 
secretly  coveting,  pricked  the  young 
lover  into  immediate  plans  for  that 
which  he  had  hitherto  regarded  only 
as  the  fleeting  fabric  of  vague,  delicious 
dreams. 

"I  have  written  again  to  your 
mother,"  he  wrote,  "and  have  told 
her  that  unless  she  will  give  me  the 
opportunity  of  meeting  you  openly  in 
your  home,  without  any  resort  to 
clandestine  stratagems,  I  shall  put  an 
end  to  this  unbearable  situation  by 
taking  you  away  with  me,  my  wife, 
when  I  come  to  Sand  Harbor.  My 
darling,  it  would  be  hard  for  you,  not 
what  you  have  been  used  to,  but  if 
love  can  atone — " 

Ah,  the  cherished  sweetness  of  those 
letters!  Into  the  arid  unloveliness  of 
122 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

the  girl's  life  there  flooded  now  all  the 
intoxicating  tender  madness  of  a  lover's 
ecstasy,  and  what  chance  had  the  poor 
battling  mother  against  the  radiant 
glow  which  melted  all  the  bonds  she 
had  spent  a  lifetime  in  forging  about 
her  child? 

And  yet  Hilary  had  never  longed 
for  her  mother's  affection  and  sympa- 
thy as  she  did  now,  since  there  had 
arisen  in  her  life  this  new  supremacy 
with  all  its  sweet  coercive  mystery. 
It  had  come  upon  her  so  silently,  so 
suddenly,  and  she  had  striven  at  first 
to  ignore  it,  and  then  she  had  toyed 
with  it,  refusing  to  believe  that  she 
need  ever  take  it  seriously. 

But  all  the  time  she  had  vaguely 
known  herself  in  the  grip  of  a  power 
stronger  than  her  own  purposes;  and 
now  with  Hugo's  firm  resolve  staring 
her  in  the  face,  she  knew  that  the  part- 
ing of  the  ways  had  come,  and  she 
123 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

grew  sick  and  white  with  helpless  mis- 
ery. For  until  this  trouble  her  mother 
had  always  obtained  from  her  the  un- 
questioning obedience  of  a  child  un- 
awakened  to  a  consciousness  of  its  own 
separate  selfhood,  and  the  habit  of  a 
lifetime  died  hard. 

After  this  the  days  fairly  flew,  until 
winter  lay  white  upon  a  dead  world, 
and  Laurie  Bell  celebrated  his  birthday 
in  a  blizzard  which  drove  the  furious 
spray-horses  far  up  on  the  bleak  shore. 
To  his  family  it  seemed  an  event  of 
great  importance,  but  he  himself 
thought  little  of  it,  though  he  took  to 
the  drum  presented  to  him  by  Mrs. 
Bradney  in  honor  of  the  occasion, 
with  an  ability  which  his  father  after- 
ward regretted. 

But   even   a  blizzard  has  its  fitting 

limitations,    and   to   one   young  man, 

stiffly  breasting  its  fury  on  his  way  to 

the  parsonage,  it  might  have  been  but 

124 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

the  light  breath  of  spring  among  the 
fluttering  blossoms.  For  the  marriage 
joy  was  in  his  heart;  the  entrancing 
dreams  of  his  loneliness  were  about  to 
make  themselves  real  in  his  life.  As 
he  strode  along  his  thoughts  crowded 
back  over  the  far  years,  and  it  seemed 
to  him  in  his  covetous  remembrance  of 
Hilary  that  he  had  always  loved  her, 
and  he  wondered  how  there  ever  could 
have  been  a  time  when  he  had  not 
consciously  known  it. 

Jeanie  admitted  him  to  the  parson- 
age grudgingly.  Indeed,  he  thought 
she  must  have  taken  his  measure  for 
the  exact  crack  of  entrance  allowed 
him. 

"Mr.  Bell?  No,  sir;  he's  not  at 
home.  And  I  don't  think,  he  will 
be — not  for  an  hour,  anyway, ' '  added 
Jeanie,  unwillingly  truthful  upon 
reflection.  "Mrs.  Bell?  Yes,  sir;  I 
think  you  can  see  her." 
125 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

"It's  him,"  she  announced,  impor- 
tantly, to  Mrs.  Bell.  "And  he'll  see 
you . 

Her  face  was  purple  with  excite- 
ment, for  it  meant  a  great  deal  to 
Jeanie  to  have  been  face  to  face  with 
the  "villain"  of  the  most  notable  love- 
story  Sand  Harbor  had  ever  known. 

"Him!"  Jeanie's  look  was  portent- 
ous, and  Mrs.  Bell  violently  revised 
in  her  mind  every  male  she  could  think 
of,  from  Satan  down  to  the  senior 
deacon.  "Now,  Jeanie — " 

"Yes,  ma'am;  but  his  looks  is  de- 
ceivin'.  I'll  say  that." 

"Jeanie,  who  is  the — " 

"Oh,  he's  brave-lookin'.  I'll  not 
deny  it.  But  Dutch — ugh!"  Jeanie 
looked  as  if  she  had  just  stepped  on  a 
cockroach. 

"Oh!"  There  was  a  world  of  compre- 
hension in  Mrs.  Bell's  voice.  "Yes, 
Jeanie ;  but  he's  not '  Dutch, '  asyou  call 
126 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

it.  He's  an  American,  which, you  know, 
you  are  not,  and  which  everybody  else 
knows  who  hears  you  talk." 

"I  am  sorry  my  husband  is  not  at 
home/'  said  Mrs.  Bell,  presently,  eye- 
ing the  young  man  with  interest.  "Do 
you  wish  me  to  give  him  some  mes- 
sage?" 

"Yes,  I  think  so.  Will  you  ask 
him — my  errand  is — "  He  hesitated 
in  sudden  embarrassment. 

"Something  to  do  with  Miss  Brad- 
ney." 

Mrs.  Bell  found  it  quite  impossible 
to  resist  the  temptation  of  venturing 
this  remark. 

"Yes.  I  wanted  to  ask  Mr.  Bell  to 
officiate  at  the  marriage  of  Miss  Brad- 
ney  and  myself  on  Wednesday  after- 
noon." 

"Where?"  inquired  Mrs.  Bell,  point- 
edly. 

The  young  man's  face  colored  hotly. 
127 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

"I  don't  know.  We  never  thought 
about  that.  I  will  let  you  know." 

Mrs.  Bell  ruminated  a  moment. 
Then  she  said: 

"It's  dreadful,  you  know.  I  don't 
see  how  you're  going  to  be  happy. 
For,  after  all,  your  mother  is  always 
your  mother." 

"Well,  I  should  say  she  was!" 

"Oh!  I  mean  her  mother  is.  Of 
course,  it's  all  wonderful  to  you  both 
now,  but  don't  you  see,  there  may 
come  a  time — oh!  why  do  you  want 
to  marry  Miss  Bradney,  anyway?" 
concluded  Mrs.  Bell,  unexpectedly, 
and  as  she  realized  a  moment  later, 
quite  idiotically. 

"For  the  same  reason,  I  suppose, 
that  your  husband  wanted  to  marry 
you,"  replied  the  young  man, 
promptly,  albeit  a  trifle  stiffly. 

Such  a  pretty  little  flush  dawned  in 
Mrs.  Bell's  cheek. 

128 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

After  all,  though  she  was  sure  that 
her  sympathies  all  belonged  to  Mrs. 
Bradney,  Mrs.  Bell  could  not  help 
thinking,  as  she  studied  Hugo  Hes- 
semer,  that  it  would  be  strange  if  the 
girl  he  elected  to  love  did  not  love  him 
in  return. 

''Can't  you  tell  me  about  it,"  she 
said,  impulsively.  "I'm  sorry  for  all 
of  you,  but  I  know  too  little  about  it 
to  be  any  help  to  any  of  you  now. 
Mrs.  Bradney  has  never  even  men- 
tioned the  matter  to  me,  and  though  I 
have  often  felt  sorry  for  Miss  Bradney, 
yet  I  did  not  know  what  to  say." 

It  was  the  first  sympathetic  remark 
the  young  fellow  had  heard  in  his 
home  town  about  his  turbulent  love 
affair,  and  his  heart  melted  to  this  win- 
ning little  woman ;  and  he  told  her  his 
story  simply,  but  so  effectively,  that 
when  Mr.  Bell  reached  home  he  was 
met  at  the  door  by  a  flying  little 
129 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

fury  with  a  mouth  full  of  indigna- 
tion. 

"Oh,  Douglas,  he's  been  here!  Oh, 
you'll  just  like  him!  He's  a  fine  fel- 
low. Why,  Hugo  Hessemer,  of  course. 
It's  been  awful.  They  want  you  to 
marry  them  on  Wednesday  afternoon. 
That  poor  girl!  It's  just  because  she 
can't  stand  it  any  more.  They  don't 
really  want  to  get  married  now,  you 
know." 

"Dear  me!  How  remarkably  self- 
sacrificing  of  them  to  do  it,  then." 

It  is  perhaps  a  fact  that  a  woman 
can  be  enthusiastic  over  any  marriage ; 
a  man  only  over  his  own. 

"Yes,  it's  like  this,  Douglas.  Mrs. 
Bradney  won't  let  him  call  there — or 
anything,  you  see." 

"Thou  shalt  not  call.  Thou  shalt 
not  kiss, "  repeated  Mr.  Bell,  pensively. 

"No,  Douglas,  that's  not  nice  of 
you.  That's  always  the  way  with  a 
130 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

man — a  married  man.  And  after  the 
way  they  once  talked,  too!" 

But  while  they  were  still  warring 
on  this  point,  Jeanie  ushered  Mrs. 
Bradney  in  upon  them. 

"Has  Hugo  Hessemer  been  here  to 
ask  you  to  marry  him  to  my  daughter?' ' 
she  asked,  without  any  preliminary 
conventions  whatever. 

"Yes,  he  has,"  admitted  Mr.  Bell, 
slowly. 

"Then  I  absolutely  forbid  your 
doing  any  such  thing."  Mrs.  Brad- 
ney's  eyes  snapped. 

"Will  that  prevent  the  marriage?" 
asked  Mr.  Bell,  quietly. 

"No,  I  suppose  not.  But  I  don't 
choose  that  the  minister  of  my  church 
should  perform  any  such  ceremony  as 
that." 

"Your  daughter  is  a  member  of  my 
church.  And  if  she  is  determined  to 
get  married,  Mrs.  Bradney,  do  you 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

consider  that  I  should  be  doing  my 
duty  in  turning  her  out,  for  the  most 
sacred  ceremony  of  her  life,  to  any 
stray  minister  she  might  thus  be 
forced  to  accept?" 

"Very  well,"  said  Mrs.  Bradney, 
fiercely,  as  she  swept  out.  "I  had 
expected  something  better  of  you  than 
this.  It  is  a  fine  example  of  obedience 
to  their  parents  to  encourage  in  our 
young  people." 

She  had  been  gone  from  home  such 
a  little  while  that  Hilary  had  not 
guessed  her  absence;  and  when  she 
returned  to  the  sitting-room,  they 
passed  the  long  evening  together  in 
their  accustomed  silence  until  the  girl 
rose  to  go  upstairs.  She  half  crossed 
the  room,  then  she  turned  back,  with 
a  beseeching  look  at  her  mother.  But 
Mrs.  Bradney  was  absorbed  in  her 
book.  Something  in  it  amused  her, 
and  she  smiled,  at  least  her  lips  did. 
132 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

"Mother,"  said  Hilary,  in  a  trem- 
bling voice,  "would  you  object  to  my 
being  married  here  on  Wednesday 
afternoon?" 

Mrs.  Bradney  carefully  finished  her 
sentence,  then  she  looked  up,  with 
the  dazed  expression  of  a  preoccupied 
person. 

"What  was  it  you  said,  child?  I 
really  didn't  hear."  Yet  every  word 
had  fallen  on  her  heart  like  a  drop  of 
liquid  fire. 

"Would  you  object  if  I  were  mar- 
ried here,  mother?"  Hilary's  voice 
was  barely  audible  now. 

"I?  object?  Of  course  not,  my  dear. 
Why  should  I  ?  Certainly,  be  married 
here,  by  all  means,  if  it  suits  you." 

Hilary  broke  into  sobs,  and  turned 
away.  But  at  the  door  her  mother's 
voice  held  her. 

"Let  me  see.  The  father's  dead, 
isn't  he?  but  hasn't  the  boy  an  old 
'33 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

mother?  Why,  yes;  I  remember  her 
years  ago ;  quite  a  tidy-looking  person. 
I  dare  say  she's  fond  of  this  boy  of  hers, 
poor  thing,  and  would  like  to  see  him 
married.  I  should  think  you  would 
ask  her  in,  Hilary." 

"I  would  never  ask  her  here, 
mother,  unless  I  was  certain  that  she 
would  be  treated  respectfully,"  said 
Hilary,  choking  back  the  sobs  in  her 
throat. 

' '  I  really  don't  know  just  who  would 
trouble  themselves  to  treat  her  disre- 
spectfully, Hilary,  and  as  she  need  be 
here  only  about  fifteen  minutes,  I 
don't  quite  see  how  any  one  would 
have  a  chance." 

Hilary  broke  into  a  passion  of  tears, 
and  went  on  to  her  room.  She  could 
hope  for  no  relenting  after  this.  Death 
itself  could  not  have  parted  her  from 
her  mother  as  they  were  parted  now. 

The  next  afternoon  she  went  into 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

the  town  to  make  some  last  purchases, 
and  on  her  way  home  Hugo  overtook 
her.  As  they  walked  up  the  hill  to- 
gether, Mrs.  Bradney  was  driven 
toward  them,  splendid  and  solitary 
among  her  piled-up  furs.  But  as 
she  was  swept  past  them  her  face 
wore  the  cold  impersonality  of  a 
sphinx. 

That  night  Hilary  could  not  sleep. 
Her  mind  was  tense  with  the  awe  of 
coming  change.  After  all,  would  he 
always  love  her?  And  why  had  he 
loved  her  to  begin  with?  She  could 
find  nothing  in  herself  to  justify  his 
passion.  Would  he  not  some  day  find 
that  out,  too?  Her  heart  revised  the 
memory  of  her  mother's  tenderness  in 
the  long  years  before  this  other  love 
had  come  to  claim  the  supreme  place 
in  her  life,  and  it  seemed  to  her 
that  her  mother  had  never  been  so 
dear  to  her  as  she  was  now,  in  this 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

moment  of  their  bitterest  estrange- 
ment. 

And  yet,  how  well  she  realized  the 
irrevocableness  of  her  detachment 
from  the  home  around  which  her 
interests  had  always  centered  until 
now.  Already  she  had  found  herself 
looking  at  her  room  from  distant  eyes, 
wondering  how  it  would  seem  when  her 
presence  had  become  but  a  memory 
within  its  silent  walls. 

As  she  lay  there,  thinking,  she  was 
startled  by  a  sound  which  repeated 
itself  insistently  in  her  ears — a  sharp, 
passionate  sound,  broken  by  smoth- 
ered moans.  She  stepped  impulsively 
across  the  room  to  the  door  which 
separated  her  from  her  mother;  but 
though  she  stood  there  a  long  time 
trembling  in  the  darkness,  shivering 
with  a  terror  which  was  partly  shame 
that  she  should  hear  at  all,  yet  she 
dared  not  go  in ;  and  when  at  last  she 
136 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

crept  back  into  bed  again,  she  felt  as  if 
she  had  received  an  agonized  baptism 
into  her  mother's  grief. 

But  the  next  afternoon  at  five 
o'clock  she  was  married  to  Hugo 
Hessemer;  and  though  at  the  last  mo- 
ment Mrs.  Bradney  came  into  the 
room,  and  stood  there,  pale  and  proud, 
during  the  ceremony,  yet  even  when 
Hilary  kissed  her  at  parting,  blind  with 
the  tears  which  came  so  fast,  the 
mother's  still  face  betrayed  no 
pang. 

On  their  way  to  the  depot  they 
stopped  to  say  good  by  to  the  "boy's 
old  mother."  She  had  been  eagerly 
awaiting  them,  and  drew  them  into 
the  house,  with  tender  words  of 
greeting,  which,  under  the  stress  of 
her  emotion,  lapsed  every  now  and 
then  into  the  German  of  her  child- 
hood. 

"Ach,   meine  liebe,"   she    said    to 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

Hilary,  "I  speak,  also  can  I  think  in 
English,  but  I  feel  in  German.  Look 
once !  I  have  been  keeping  the  sacred 
time  all  to  myself."  She  pointed  to 
the  Bible  lying  open  on  the  table,  the 
yellow  little  old  Bible  out  of  which  she 
had  learned  ' '  Der  Herr  ist  mein  Hirte, ' ' 
long  ago  when  she  was  a  merry  little 
maiden  among  the  purple  vineyards  of 
the  Rhine.  She  looked  with  wistful 
eyes  at  her  boy's  fair  young  bride,  and 
then  laying  her  worn  hands  on  his 
broad  shoulders,  she  said,  with  tender 
solemnity: 

"Mein  Hugo,  you  do  take  her 
young  life  into  your  care.  What  the 
mutter  has  always  been  to  her,  must 
you  now  be,  but  yet  more.  Hugo,  I 
once  had  a  little  madchen  of  my  own, 
but  God  took  her.  I  have  thought 
to-day  how  it  would  be  if  this  was  my 
Elsa's  marriage.  And  I  know  what  I 
for  her  would  ask.  My  boy,  it  is  not 
138 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

only  love — a  woman  must  have  honor 
from  her  husband." 

Then  with  a  quaint,  appealing  ges- 
ture she  turned  to  Hilary. 

' '  My  dear,  he  is  all  I  have ;  I  give 
him  to  you." 

The  girl  bent  impulsively  to  kiss  her 
with  eyes  full  of  tears ;  and  then  look- 
ing at  the  homely  old  face,  so  beauti- 
ful in  expression,  she  did  not  wonder 
that  she  had  loved  the  son  of  such  a 
mother. 

And  afterward,  among  all  the  angry, 
jarring  memories  of  her  marriage, 
Hilary  counted  as  its  consecrating  mo- 
ment the  mother's  tender  benediction 
to  them  in  parting:  "The  Lord  bless 
thee  and  keep  thee;  the  Lord  cause 
His  face  to  shine  upon  thee,  and  give 
thee  peace." 

As  it  grew  dark  the  wind  rose,  and 
the  snow  flew  like  chaff  before  the 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

sweeping  gusts.  The  streets  were 
deserted,  for  it  was  a  night  when  the 
meanest  home  seemed  a  haven. 

And  as  the  mistress  of  the  Hill 
House  toiled  by,  on  her  long,  lonely 
way  to  the  depot,  she  caught  glimpses 
of  happy  families  and  blazing  hearths, 
and  the  sounds  of  simple  homely  joys 
smote  her  ear  with  cruel  significance. 
She  was  fiercely  thankful  for  the 
storm  against  which  she  fought  her 
way,  for  its  fury  was  her  protection 
against  prying  eyes  and  bitter  tongues. 
Already  in  the  echoing  distance  she 
heard  the  swelling  whistle  of  the  train, 
and  she  spurred  her  wearying  steps 
into  reckless  haste.  Oh,  why  had  she 
not  thought  of  it  sooner! 

But  she  was  there  at  last,  and 
shrinking  like  a  frightened  shadow  into 
the  shrouding  darkness  of  the  depot, 
she  waited  for  the  last  glimpse  of  her 
child. 

140 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

The  long,  cruel  lines  thundered  be- 
neath the  nearing  train;  the  waiting- 
room  door  was  flung  open,  and  Hilary 
stepped  into  the  broad  band  of  yellow 
light.  Beyond,  in  the  darkness,  the 
fierce  mother-eyes  greedily  licked  up 
the  smile  with  which  the  girl  lifted  her 
happy  face  to  meet  her  proud  young 
husband's  glance  as  he  handed  her  up 
the  steps ;  and  then  the  child  was  gone, 
away  into  a  strange  new  world  of  her 
own,  in  which  her  mother  had  no 
place. 

The  next  morning,  Vandelia,  bus- 
tling into  the  sitting-room  to  open  the 
windows  to  the  dull,  belated  dawn, 
found  Mrs.  Bradney  on  her  knees  be- 
fore the  dead  fire,  staring  with  glassy 
eyes  at  the  blackened  remnants  of  a 
pair  of  baby's  shoes. 

She  had  burned  her  child's  past  be- 
hind her. 


141 


CHAPTER  VII 

"Laurie,  Laurie!"  cried  Mrs.  Bell, 
anxiously.  "Laurie,  where  are  you?" 

But  the  prudent  Laurie  made  no 
reply,  and  then  Mrs.  Bell  knew  that 
he  was  engaged  in  criminal  pursuits. 

"I  quite  suppose  he's  in  the  pansy- 
bed  again,"  thought  Jeanie,  as  she 
viciously  kneaded  the  bread.  "But 
I  know  I  shan't  mention  it." 

Yes,  there  he  was,  seated  in  the 
very  midst  of  it,  with  forlorn  rows  of 
uprooted  pansies  all  around  him,  which 
he  had  begun  rapidly  to  replant  root 
end  up  as  soon  as  he  heard  his  moth- 
er's voice.  When  he  looked  up  and 
saw  her  beside  him,  he  began  to  cry. 

"I  ain't  naudy  boy;  I  ain't  durdy 
boy, ' '  he  wailed,  all  the  time  crowding 
142 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

little  heaps  of  plants  back  into  the 
ground  heads  foremost. 

This  was  fearful.  For  it  was  not 
the  first  time  he  had  done  this  thing; 
it  was  about  the  five-and-twentieth. 
Time  and  time  again  Mrs.  Bell  had 
weakly  hoped  the  pansies  would  die, 
and  so  relieve  her  of  a  problem  she 
could  not  solve;  but  the  persistent  lit- 
tle things  bobbed  into  bloom  again, 
apparently  under  the  impression  that 
something  very  extra  was  required  of 
them,  in  return  for  all  the  attention 
they  got. 

The  first  time  he  had  pulled  them 
up  Mrs.  Bell  sat  down  beside  him  on 
the  grass,  and  talked  beautifully  to  him 
about  the  flower  babies,  who  were  try- 
ing to  grow,  and  Laurie  enjoyed  it 
very  much,  and  was  so  sweet  that  she 
kissed  him  a  great  many  times! 

The  second  time  she  was  surprised 
and  grieved,  and  said  some  things 
H3 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

which  impressed  him  seriously,  and  he 
was  sure  he  was  going  to  be  good. 

The  third  time  she  tied  him  to  a 
tree,  close  to  the  suffering  pansies, 
that  he  might  study  their  wilted 
aspect,  and  truly  repent,  but  the  rope 
was  long,  and  he  climbed  the  tree, 
and  played  that  he  was  a  "father-bird" 
building  a  nest,  and  she  was  so  thank- 
ful when  Mr.  Bell  got  him  down  alive 
that  she  forgot  all  about  his  morals, 
and  Laurie  escaped,  with  a  consolingly 
vague  impression  that  he  had  been  a 
hero  anyway. 

The  fourth  time  his  mother  tied  him 
to  his  bed,  being  suddenly  convinced 
that  solitary  confinement  was  the 
thing  adapted  to  his  case;  but  he 
crawled  into  bed  as  far  as  his  captive 
little  leg  would  let  him,  and  fell  asleep, 
and  when  she  found  him  there,  with 
his  flushed  baby  face  all  wet  with 
tears,  her  heart  misgave  her,  and  she 
144 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

gently  untied  the  cord  and  put  it  far 
out  of  sight,  and  sat  down  beside  him 
and  watched  him  with  tender,  brood- 
ing eyes  until  he  awoke,  with  a  con- 
science apparently  quite  free  from  any 
irksome  stains  of  guilt. 

"A  hipmapossamus, "  he  remarked, 
with  delightful  irrelevance  to  the  occa- 
sion in  hand,  "is  a  big  fiss.  Poor  hip- 
mapossamus! He  has  to  stay  in  the 
water  all  the  time,  and  he  gets  all 
soaking  wet." 

But  half  an  hour  later  the  pansies 
were  all  upside  down  again,  and  then 
Mrs.  Bell  prayed  with  him.  But  the 
effect  of  that  was  not  just  what  she 
sought,  for  when  she  got  through, 
Laurie  promptly  followed  her  with 
"Now  I  lay  me  down  to  sleep,"  in 
a  tone  of  voice  which  was  a  ridiculously 
exact  imitation  of  her  own  fervid  utter- 
ance. 

The  next  time  she  whipped  him. 
H5 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

She  had  never  expected  or  intended 
that  any  child  of  hers  should  be 
whipped,  but  she  was  distracted  now 
by  the  utter  simplicity  of  the  difficulty. 
Here  was  a  little  child  who  loved  flow- 
ers, and  understood  perfectly  what  he 
was  told  about  them ;  and  yet  she  had 
completely  failed  thus  far  to  teach  him 
to  leave  them  alone  and  let  them  live. 
She  asked  several  of  the  mothers  in 
Israel  what  they  would  do  about  it, 
but  beyond  shaking  their  heads  por- 
tentously and  remarking,  "Oh,  you 
must  really  break  him  of  the  habit  at 
once,  Mrs.  Bell,"  they  had  nothing 
vital  to  offer. 

On  this  particular  afternoon  Mrs. 
Bell  sat  down  among  the  pansies  and 
wept,  while  Laurie  tenderly  mopped 
up  her  tears  with  a  handkerchief  which 
had  certainly  seen  its  cleaner  days. 

Then  a  sudden  resolve  came  to  her. 
"I  will  go  up  and  talk  to  Mrs.  Brad- 
146 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

ney  about  it,"  she  thought.  "She 
has  more  sense  than  anybody  else." 

She  took  Laurie  into  the  house  with 
her,  and  stood  him  with  his  face  to  the 
wall  while  she  got  ready.  After 
a  while  he  said  to  her,  with  the  grave 
sweetness  which  always  revived  hope 
in  her  bosom : 

"Mamma,  does  God  know  what  we 
are  thinking  about,  always,  without  our 
telling  Him?" 

"Yes,  Laurie." 

"Well,  then,  mamma,  He  knows  that 
I  thought  just  now  what  a  very,  very 
good  boy  I  am  always  going  to  be  after 
this;  and  I  am  sure  He  thinks  I  ought 
to  be  let  out  of  this  corner  right  away, 
when  I  know  I  am  going  to  be  such  a 
good,  good  boy." 

His  mother  made  no  reply  to  this 
bald  suggestion;  but  it  took  a  great 
deal  to  discourage  Laurie,  and  after 
some  further  meditation,  he  remarked : 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

"It  is  so  much  better  to  be  good, 
'cause  then  your  heart  beats  so  smoove 
and  soft." 

Mrs.  Bell  sighed.  She  felt  that  it 
would  be  much  easier  to  train  Laurie 
up  in  the  way  he  should  go  if  he  had 
not  been  quite  so  much  like  the  little 
girl  who  had  a  little  curl. 

The  continued  intimacy  between 
Mrs.  Bradney  and  Mrs.  Bell  was  some- 
thing which  puzzled  Sand  Harbor  a 
good  deal.  For  somehow  it  had  leaked 
out  that  in  performing  that  wedding 
ceremony  Mr.  Bell  had  run  directly 
counter  to  Mrs.  Bradney's  express 
desire;  and  in  the  three  years  follow- 
ing it  she  had  not  once  crossed  the 
threshold  of  the  church.  But  to  the 
two  women  themselves  there  was  no 
mystery  about  it.  There  dwelt  always 
between  them  the  memory  of  that 
night  when  Vandelia  had  run  breath- 
lessly down  to  the  parsonage  to  say 
148 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

that  her  mistress  had  lain  all  day  with- 
out speaking,  or  noticing  the  food 
which  had  been  offered  to  her.  That 
was  the  day  after  Hilary's  wedding, 
and  for  once  Vandelia  was  at  her  wits' 
ends.  She  knew  Mrs.  Bradney's  tem- 
per too  well  to  risk  calling  in  a  doctor 
on  her  own  responsibility,  and  as  for 
appealing  to  any  of  the  old  family 
friends — Vandelia  sniffed!  What  a 
fine  story  it  would  be  for  the  gossips! 
But  there  was  the  minister;  he  already 
knew  all  about  it ;  she  could  make  no 
mistake  in  consulting  him. 

And  then  Mrs.  Bell  had  said,  decid- 
edly: 

"I  will  go  back  with  Vandelia, 
Douglas." 

"You?  But  what  can  you  do, 
Betty?" 

"I  don't  know,  but  I  can  find  out." 

When  she  went  quietly  into  the  room 
Mrs.  Bradney  turned  her  eyes  upon 
149 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

her  and  looked  at  her  in  silence.  But 
at  last  she  said,  harshly,  "Why  are 
you  here?" 

Mrs.  Bell  thought  a  moment.  Then 
she  said,  in  the  most  matter-of-fact 
manner:  "I'm  sure  I  don't  know. 
But  I  do  know  that  for  such  a  capable 
woman,  Vandelia  seems  to  understand 
very  little  about  sickness.  Why,  she 
doesn't  appear  to  have  even  the  apol- 
ogy for  an  idea.  Here  I  come  in  and 
find  a  whole  dinner,  rank  enough  for  a 
day-laborer,  waiting  for  you  to  devour. 
Now,  you're  feverish  with  that  awful 
cold,  and  of  course  you  can't  eat.  But 
I  told  Vandelia  she  could  bring  up 
some  tea  and  toast  for  us  both  pres- 
ently, for  I  haven't  had  any  supper 
yet.  It's  certainly  much  easier  to 
live  with  things  than  with  people  in 
this  world.  I  wish  you  could  have 
heard  Mrs.  De  Lent  this  afternoon. 
She  came  in  just  as  we  were  going  to 
150 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

sit  down  to  the  table.  Wouldn't  she 
take  supper  with  us?  Oh,  no,  my 
dear  Mrs.  Bell!  She  would  only  keep 
me  one  little  minute.  Well,  old 
Father  Time  would  still  be  in  long 
clothes  if  Mrs.  De  Lent's  conception 
of  minutes  ruled  the  mathematical 
destinies  of  the  universe.  She  had  a 
most  extended  list  of  questions  to  dis- 
cuss with  me.  To  begin  with,  she 
was  surprised  to  find  I  hadn't  joined 
the  club.  Why>  didn't  I  know  there 
was  nothing  so  enervating  as  the  club? 
I  said,  gravely  enough,  I  was  sure  there 
wasn't.  Then  the  choir.  Now  that 
woman  doesn't  know  any  more  about 
music  than  a  pig  does  of  Sunday. 
She  couldn't  tell  a  note  from  a  fly- 
speck  to  save  her  life ;  but  to  hear  her 
talk  you'd  think  she'd  been  born  with 
a  baton  in  her  hand,  ready  to  beat 
time  for  Beethoven  himself.  Trumpet 
solo  by  the  Angel  Gabriel,  conducted 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

by  Mrs.  De  Lent.  That's  her  idea  of 
heaven,  you  may  be  sure.  She  told 
me  her  nature  was  so  perfectly  in  tune 
with  the  music  of  the  spheres  that  she 
could  no  more  help  singing  right  than 
the  birds  can.  After  a  while  it  got 
through  my  thick  intellect  what  that 
poor  thing  wanted.  Now  what  do  you 
suppose?" 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Mrs.  Bradney, 
feebly,  but  there  was  the  faintest  smile 
on  her  wan  face. 

"Why,  of  course  she  wants  to  be 
soprano  in  our  choir.  And  did  you 
ever  have  the  privilege  of  hearing  her 
sing?  I've  never  heard  a  cow  sing 
myself,  but  isn't  there  some  old 
English  poet  who  says  they  do,  every 
Christmas  Eve  at  midnight?  Now, 
my  own  opinion  is  that  the  cow  he 
heard  was  Mrs.  De  Lent  in  a  previous 
incarnation.  She  told  me  the  other 
day  that  she  distinctly  remembered 
152 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

herself  two  or  three  thousand  years 
ago.  She  was  a  man  then,  a  warrior 
bold,  but  she  was  killed  treacherously, 
stabbed  in  the  back,  and  she  can  still 
feel  the  point  of  that  cruel  dagger  as 
it  plunged  into  her  flesh.  That  ac- 
counts for  her  being  so  very  nervous 
now.  She  has  never  recovered  from 
that  shock." 

When  Vandelia  brought  in  the  tea, 
she  was  amazed  to  find  the  two  women 
laughing. 

"And  yet,"  continued  Mrs.  Bell, 
' '  Mrs.  De  Lent  isn't  such  a  bad  woman. 
Twins  and  poverty  might  have  done  a 
good  deal  for  her ;  but  as  it  is,  she  has 
all  the  time  and  money  she  can  use  to 
make  a  fool  of  herself  with." 

So  Mrs.  Bell  rattled  on,  but  before 
she  went  home  that  night  she  had 
subtly  restored  Mrs.  Bradney's  sense 
of  dignity  to  the  perpendicular,  and 
had  forged  between  them  both  a  bond 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

of  sympathy  which  neither  ever 
strained  by  a  spoken  word.  Not  that 
Mrs.  Bradney  for  one  moment  misin- 
terpreted Mrs.  Bell's  attitude  as  to 
Hilary's  marriage.  It  is  even  likely 
that  as  time  went  on  she  grew  to  have 
a  quite  unconscious  satisfaction  in 
this  friendship,  just  because  she  knew 
the  little  woman  was  such  a  stanch 
advocate  of  her  daughter's  rights  in 
regard  to  the  man  she  loved.  But 
they  never  spoke  of  Hilary. 

"She  knows  what  I  think  quite 
well,"  said  Mrs.  Bell  to  her  husband; 
"and  she  knows  I'm  right,  too.  But 
she  wouldn't  if  we  once  began  to  talk 
about  it.  Oh,  Douglas,  you  would 
just  die  to  hear  her  talk  to  me  about 
Laurie.  She's  so  anxious  for  me  to 
be  wise  about  training  him." 

"So,  now,  what  would  you  do,  Mrs. 
Bradney?"  asked  Mrs.  Bell  that  after- 
noon, after  she  had  stated  the  case  of 
'54 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

the  pansies  and  herself  versus  Laurie. 
"Why  have  I  failed  so  utterly  to  make 
him  obedient?  Just  in  this  one  thing, 
though.  In  every  other  way  he  is  so 
good." 

They  talked  it  over  for  a  long  time, 
but  Mrs.  Bell  went  home  feeling  that 
after  all  Mrs.  Bradney's  thoughts  had 
been  outside  the  discussion,  and  that 
she  was  not  consciously  nearer  to  any 
solution  of  her  difficulty.  But  that 
evening,  after  they  had  finished  sup- 
per, and  Laurie  had  sweetly  crooned 
himself  to  sleep  with  his  own  peculiar 
version — 

"  My  bonnet  lies  over  the  ocean, 
My  bonnet  lies  over  the  sea, 
My  bonnet  lies  over  the  ocean, 
Oh,  bring  back  my  bonnet  to  me." 

Mrs.  Bradney  came  in,  "just  for  a 
minute,"  she  said.  Her  face  looked 
old  and  strained,  and  she  began 
to  talk  at  once,  rapidly  and  nervous- 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

ly,   as   much   to    Mr.    Bell   as   to   his 
wife. 

"About  Laurie.  I've  been  thinking 
of  it  ever  since.  It  worried  me.  You 
say  you  have  tried  everything  to  break 
him  of  it.  Yes;  but  there  is  some- 
thing else.  Temptation  is  a  good 
thing,  I  suppose,  but  not  under  all 
conditions.  A  man  struggling  not  to 
drink  —  we  should  not  think  it  a 
good  thing  to  hem  him  in  with 
saloons." 

"Oh,  but  that  would  be  giving  in 
to  the  child,"  cried  Mrs.  Bell,  instantly 
foreseeing  the  end  of  this  line  of  argu- 
ment. 

An  almost  imperceptible  quiver 
passed  over  Mrs.  Bradney's  face. 

"Would  it?"  she  said,  wistfully. 
"Then,  my  dear,  I  would  'give  in.' 
Tell  him  the  pansies  have  gone  away ; 
that  when  he  can  be  good  to  them, 
perhaps  they  will  come  back. ' ' 
156 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

At  the  door  she  paused  a  moment 
to  say,  in  an  uneven  voice: 

"It  isn't  the  pansies,  you  know; 
nor  even  your  ideas  of  right  and  wrong. 
It's  Laurie  himself.  Some  day  you 
might  be  sorry  that  you  had  kept  on 
forcing  an  issue  which  you  might  have 
gone  around." 

"Perhaps  she's  right,"  said  Mrs. 
Bell;  "but  it  isn't  Laurie  or  the 
pansies  she's  thinking  of;  it's 
Hilary." 

The  next  morning,  when  Laurie 
went  out  to  play,  he  came  quickly  back 
to  his  mother  with  a  troubled  little 
face. 

"My  pansies!"  he  cried  out  to  her. 
"Poor  pansies  all  flied  away." 

"Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Bell,  gravely. 
"They're  all  gone  away,  darling,  be- 
cause Laurie  worried  them  so.  Per- 
haps, some  day,  when  he  is  kind 
and  will  let  them  grow,  they  will 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

come  back  again.  But  they've  all 
gone  away  now  to  try  and  grow 
big." 

The  child  looked  at  her  a  moment 
in  silence,  but  the  tears  began  to  fill 
his  deep  gray  eyes.  Then  with  a 
breaking  sob  he  flew  past  her,  out  into 
the  garden  again,  and  threw  himself 
down  beside  the  empty  pansy-bed  in 
an  agony  of  grief  and  regret.  But  he 
never  destroyed  a  flower  again. 

Laurie  was  very  fond  of  Mrs.  Brad- 
ney,  whom  he  familiarly  alluded  to  as 
"Auntie  Rell,"  and  Mrs.  Bell  was 
sometimes  scandalized  at  the  things  he 
said  to  her;  so  it  was  perhaps  just  as 
well  that  she  did  not  hear  the  very 
worst  of  them,  for  it  was  only  when  he 
was  quite  alone  with  Mrs.  Bradney 
that  he  gave  the  loosest  rein  to  his 
thoughts  of  her. 

"You're  very  old,  aren't  you?"  he 
said,  cheerfully,  to  her  one  day. 
158 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

"Yes,  child,"  replied  Mrs.  Bradney, 
absently. 

"Then  you  really  ought  to  be  dead, 
shouldn't  you?"  he  continued,  looking 
at  her  with  the  critical  air  of  a  con- 
noisseur in  things  mortal. 

Mrs.  Bradney  smiled.  "Then  what 
would  you  do?  You  couldn't  come 
here  any  more,  and  you  couldn't  go 
'horse-backing,'  as  you  call  it,  on 
Bobby  Shafto. ' ' 

Laurie  looked  oppressed,  and  consid- 
ered the  case  anxiously. 

"Who'll  you  give  this  to  when 
you're  dead?  Haven't  you  any  little 
boys  or  girls?"  A  worried  crease 
appeared  between  his  eyes. 

"Yes." 

"Boys?" 

"No." 

"Girls?" 

"Yes." 

"Heaps  of  girls?" 
159 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

"No." 

"Just  only  one  girl?" 

"Yes."  Mrs.  Bradney  sat  up  very 
straight. 

"Where  is  she?" 

"Oh — a  long  way  off." 

"Why  isn't  she  here?" 

"Why,  because  she  has  her  own 
home,  child." 

"Oh!  She's  a  bachelor,  then," 
cried  Laurie,  with  an  air  of  relief.  "I 
know.  And  lives  all  alone,  like  you." 

"A  bachelor?" 

"Yes.  Jeanie  told  me."  Laurie 
wagged  his  head  ponderously,  like  one 
in  possession  of  illimitable  tracts  of 
knowledge.  "A  bachelor  is  a  lady 
who  had  a  wife,  but  hasn't." 

"Oh!" 

"Then  your  little  girl  is  a  bachelor. " 

"No." 

"Isn't  she?  Oh,  yes,  I'm  sure  she 
is."  But  his  tone  wavered,  and  he 
160 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

east  visibly  about  in  his  little  brain  for 
proof  positive.  "Because  —  why, 
Jeanie  told  me  our  grocer  was  a  bach- 
elor." He  beamed  in  conclusive  tri- 
umph upon  Mrs.  Bradney. 

After  this  he  talked  a  great  deal  to 
her  about  her  "little  girl,"  and  gradu- 
ally he  became  possessed  of  a  series  of 
exquisite  confidences  about  the  little 
Hilary,  whose  vanished  sweetness 
haunted  her  mother's  heart.  Perhaps 
it  was  because  Laurie  had  the  same 
appealing  eyes  and  the  same  sunny, 
hair  tossed  in  clouds  about  his  fair  lit- 
tle face  that  Mrs.  Bradney  found  it 
natural  to  talk  to  him  about  things 
which  touched  the  quick  of  her  deepest 
feelings.  Or  perhaps  it  was  because 
the  child  had  a  blessed  and  extravagant 
belief  in  her  goodness — a  belief  which 
was  sometimes  fraught  with  the  cruel- 
est  stings  for  her. 

But  behind  all  her  occasional  soften- 

161 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

ings,  and  her  strange  impulse  of  affec- 
tion for  this  little  child,  she  harbored 
unchanging  resentment  and  bitterness 
against  her  daughter,  the  daughter  of 
these  later  years,  for  whose  vulgarized 
life  she  felt  the  profoundest  contempt. 
And  it  was  with  no  little  trepidation 
that  Mrs.  Bell  said  to  her  one  day : 

"Have  you  had  any  news  of  Mrs. 
Hessemer  lately?" 

Mrs.  Bradney  looked  at  her  for  a 
moment  in  silence.  Then  she  said, 
coldly : 

"I  never  have  any  news  of  her." 

For  after  the  first  few  months  Hilary 
had  grown  discouraged  at  receiving  no 
answers  to  her  patient  letters,  and  so 
they  had  ceased  long  ago.  For  it  was 
three  years  now  since  her  marriage. 

"Come   into   the  conservatory  with 
me,"    continued   Mrs.   Bradney,   rest- 
lessly.    "Brazil   has  some   wonderful 
new  azaleas  he  wants  you  to  see." 
162 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

"Yes,  in  a  minute,"  said  Mrs.  Bell. 
She  was  dreadfully  frightened,  but  she 
meant  to  go  on,  and  Mrs.  Bradney 
waited,  feeling  as  helpless  as  a  caged 
lion  against  this  determined  bit  of  a 
woman.  "It's  like  this.  I  mean,  I'm 
sure  Hilary  must  want  you.  I  should, 
I  know,  if  I  had  a  mother.  Oh,  Mrs. 
Bradney,  won't  you  go  to  her?" 

A  deep  flush  came  into  Mrs.  Brad- 
ney's  face,  and  the  hands  idly  clasped 
in  her  lap  began  to  tremble.  She 
slightly  turned  her  head,  so  that  her 
straight  profile  with  its  impersonal, 
cameo-like  effect  was  alone  visible  to 
Mrs.  Bell.  But  presently  her  lips 
tightened  into  a  hard,  unlovely  line, 
and  the  color  faded  from  her  face, 
leaving  it  white  and  cold.  Then  she 
turned  again  to  Mrs.  Bell. 

"Really,  if  you  care  to  see  the  con- 
servatory, I  think  we  had  better  go 
now. ' ' 

163 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

But  a  flame  of  anger  shot  up  into 
Mrs.  Bell's  heart  and  voice. 

"No,  I  don't  want  to  go  now,"  she 
said,  vehemently.  "How  can  you 
talk  about  azaleas,  when — when  I  tell 
you  such  a  thing  as  this?"  She  glared 
defiantly  at  Mrs.  Bradney.  "I'm 
glad  now  I  haven't  got  a  mother.  If 
she  acted  like  you,  I'd — why,  I'd  just 
hate  her." 

And  with  that  she  put  on  her  hat, 
and  walked  out  of  the  house  and  back 
to  her  home  in  a  wild  upheaval  of  fury 
and  fright,  and  burst  into  the  study 
with  a  force  which  brought  Mr.  Bell 
up  standing. 

"Oh,  Douglas,  it's  awful!  We'll 
have  to  go.  She'll  never  forgive  me. 
Oh,  why  did  I  do  it?  But  I  don't 
care  one  bit." 

But  when  she  had  succeeded  in 
interpreting  these  ravings  to  Mr.  Bell's 
understanding,  he  burst  out  laughing, 
164 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

which  was  such  a  relief  to  her  that  she 
cried. 

"Why,  I  think  it  was  great,"  he 
shouted.  ' '  Bless  your  dear  little  heart, 
Betty!  that's  just  the  sort  of  whole- 
some truth  she's  suffering  to  hear  about 
herself.  And  as  for  us — my  dear,  she'll 
keep  still  enough  about  us,  don't  you 
fret.  Oh,  jiminy!  I'd  give  a  dollar  to 
buy  top-coats  for  the  Hottentots  for  a 
snap-shot  of  the  scene." 

It  was  treacherous  weather,  and  per- 
haps Mrs.  Bell  in  her  excitement  had 
not  wrapped  herself  up  sufficiently. 
That  was  what  Mr.  Bell  thought  when 
she  woke  in  the  night  with  a  pain  in 
her  throat,  and  he  got  up  and  dosed 
her  sleepily,  and  then  forgot  all  about 
it  until  he  found  himself  wondering 
the  next  morning  why  Betty  didn't  get 
up  when  the  alarm  had  rung  so  long 
ago,  and  why  he  was  possessed  of  a 
boy  who  would  persist  in  telling  him- 
165 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

self  stories  in  an  oratorical  tone  of 
voice,  just  when  his  father  needed  his 
final  nap  so  badly. 

''Shut  up!"  he  remarked,  tersely, 
to  Laurie  this  morning,  and  Laurie  an- 
swered, cheerfully:  "Yes,  papa;  and 
now  I'll  tell  you  another  story.  Once 
a  little  boy's  mamma  sent  him  out  on 
an  erring." 

No  doubt  Laurie  meant  "errand," 
but  in  his  dreams  Mr.  Bell  beheld  a 
very  slender  herring  galloping  through 
the  streets,  surmounted  by  a  very  solid 
little  boy.  "But  the  naudy  little  boy 
ran  away  into  the  woods  to  play.  And 
the  woods  were  awful  beary  and  full 
of  buffits  and  taggers,  too.  And  a 
great  big  buffit  ran  at  him  and  stuck 
him  full  of  tears  with  its  horns,  and  so 
he  died.  And  when  his  mamma 
came  to  find  him,  there  was  his 
dear  little  dead  body  lying  full  of 
holes." 

166 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

There  was  a  long  silence  after  this, 
designed  by  Laurie,  no  doubt,  for  the 
moral  good  of  his  hearer,  until  sud- 
denly Mr.  Bell's  ears  were  assailed  by 
a  series  of  rat-tat-tats,  kept  up  with 
maddening  regularity. 

"Laurie,  stop  that  noise!"  he  com- 
manded, stormily. 

"Yes,  but  I  must  fix  my  shoe, 
papa.  This  nail's  wearing  tracks  in 
my  foot." 

"Laurie,"  vociferated  Mr.  Bell  some 
moments  later,  "if  you  don't  stop  that 
hammering  pretty  soon,  I'm  coming 
over  there  to  hammer  you." 

"Now,  papa,"  protested  Laurie,  in 
mildest  complaint,  "if  you  would  only 
not  use  up  all  my  strength  'splaining 
why  I  can't  stop,  I  might  have  enough 
left  to  stop  with." 

"Well,  I  guess  I'll  go  asleep  again," 
he  announced  presently.  Then,  some 
moments  later,  "Papa,  is  it  best  to  go 
167 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

asleep,  or  to  wait  until  you  fall 
asleep?" 

As  he  got  no  answer  to  this  ques- 
tion, he  climbed  out  of  his. crib,  and 
pattered  coldly  over  the  floor  to  his 
parent. 

Laurie's  crib  was  familiarly  alluded 
to  by  the  family  as  the  "pen."  It 
had  been  built  in  his  vigorous  infancy 
by  a  local  carpenter,  who  had  received 
liberal  instructions  to  create  a  structure 
out  of  which  no  able-bodied  child 
should  be  able  to  escape.  When  it 
was  brought  home  Mrs.  Bell  had 
seemed  somewhat  astonished  at  the 
literal  manner  in  which  her  instructions 
had  been  fulfilled,  and  had  even  gone 
so  far  as  to  ask  the  perplexed  architect 
if  a  ladder  went  with  it. 

"Oh,  I  wouldn't  bother  about  that, 
Betty,"  said  Mr.  Bell,  reassuringly; 
"for  if  he  should  ever  set  fire  to  him- 
self, it  would  really  be  much  quicker 
168 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

to  pour  water  in  on  top  of  him,  instead 
of  merely  trying  to  get  him  out." 

''But  I  don't  see  why  he  should 
want  to  set  fire  to  hisself, "'  objected 
the  architect,  bluntly. 

"Oh,  the  natural  depravity  of  the 
human  heart  comes  in  there,"  rejoined 
the  minister,  sadly;  and  then  the  man, 
who  was  made  of  fine  theological  stuff, 
smiled  appreciatively.  The  first  time 
Laurie  had  succeeded  in  effecting  an 
escape  from  his  "pen,"  after  a  vast 
amount  of  creaking  and  scraping  and 
puffing  and  groaning,  he  celebrated 
his  victory  by  a  triumphant  little  howl : 
"Oh,  I  get  out  of  bed  I-self !  I  get  out 
of  bed  I-self!  I  getting  quite  a  big 
man  now.  But,  oh  dear!  I  'fraid  I 
a  very  little  big  man." 

Mrs.  Bell  thought  that  very  "cute," 

but      as      Laurie's     agility     steadily 

increased,  she  came  to  the  conclusion 

that   the   despised   domestic   architect 

169 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

knew  more  about  the  inherent  possibil- 
ities of  a  boy's  legs  than  she  had  given 
him  credit  for. 

"Papa,"  now  shouted  Laurie,  se- 
ductively, straight  into  Mr.  Bell's  ear, 
"move  over!  I  want  to  get  into  bed 
with  you." 

"Oh,  keep  off!  Go  to  sleep!  Leave 
me  alone !  Get  away !  Schnr-r-r, ' ' 
groaned  Mr.  Bell,  dozily. 

Laurie  stood  silent  a  moment, 
amazed  at  the  nature  of  this  remark. 
Then  he  stamped  his  bare  little  foot, 
and  exclaimed,  vehemently:  "Papa, 
you're  what  I  call  a  beastly  man!" 
And  having  thus  effectively  freed  his 
mind,  he  began  to  weep. 

But  what  was  the  matter  with  Betty 
all  this  time?  She  took  no  notice  of 
Laurie's  wails,  and  at  last  Mr.  Bell, 
roused  into  sudden  remembrance  of  her 
complaints  during  the  night,  sat  up 
and  looked  at  her. 

170 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

Twenty  minutes  later  he  was  on  his 
way  to  the  doctor's,  and  in  an  hour  or 
so  a  big  red  diphtheria  card  was  tacked 
up  outside  the  parsonage. 

Laurie  was  promptly  banished  below 
stairs,  and  Mr.  Bell  put  in  a  day  of 
eager  care  for  his  wife,  to  be  followed 
by  a  long,  lonely  night  of  anxiety,  for 
it  had  been  found  impossible  as  yet  to 
get  a  nurse,  owing  to  the  epidemic  of 
the  disease  in  town.  The  next  morn- 
ing he  could  not  help  seeing  that  Mrs. 
Bell  was  much  worse,  and  just  as  he 
was  wondering  desperately  what  he 
should  do,  Jeanie  ran  up  to  tell  him 
that  Mrs.  Bradney  wished  to  see 
him. 

As  he  closed  the  door  gently  behind 
him,  he  found  himself  face  to  face  with 
her. 

"Oh,  why  didn't  you  send  for  me 
yesterday?  I  only  heard  of  it  just 
now.  Now,  where  shall  I  begin  first?" 
171 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

It  seemed  to  him  that  she  began 
everywhere  at  once,  for  in  an  incred- 
ibly short  time  she  had  the  whole  thing 
reduced  to  a  system.  Laurie  and 
Jeanie  were  both  sent  to  the  Hill 
House. 

"Oh,  yes,  Jeanie  must  go,  too," 
she  said,  decidedly.  "I  dare  say  she 
and  Vandelia  will  hitch  together  like 
oil  and  water,  but  you  and  I  can't  help 
that,  and  Laurie  must  have  Jeanie. 
Besides,  we  don't  want  a  creature 
here  that  we  can  get  along  without. 
Brazil  will  bring  our  meals  down 
to  us,  and  wait  and  take  the  dishes 
back." 

Seeing  Mr.  Bell's  evident  astonish- 
ment at  the  magnitude  of  her  arrange- 
ments, she  said  to  him,  sharply: 

"Have  you  ever  been  through  this 
thing?  No;  well,  I  have — twice;  and 
I  know  the  meaning  of  it.  It's  unfor- 
tunate that  Mrs.  Coddle  is  engaged, 
172 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

but  I  am  sure  Mrs.  McAlpine  will 
come,  as  a  favor  to  me.  But  it  will 
take  the  three  of  us  to  fight  this  thing 
out  to  the  finish." 


'73 


CHAPTER   VIII 

At  the  end  of  three  terrible  weeks 
of  suspense  Jeanie  one  day  brought 
Laurie  down  to  the  parsonage,  and 
his  mother  was  permitted  to  kiss  him 
through  the  window-pane.  They 
dabbed  away  joyfully  at  each  other  in 
the  intervals  of  a  screeching  conversa- 
tion. 

"This  snow's  very  stale,  mamma. 
Why,  the  crust  on  it  is  as  hard!  Did 
you  know  I  have  a  very  important 
'gagement  for  this  afternoon?  Van- 
delia's  going  to  take  me  for  a  sleigh- 
ride.  She's  going  to  drive,  you  know. 
She's  a  very  smart  woman.  I  heard 
the  butter- woman  say  so  to  Brazil. 
My  kitty's  got  such  human  eyes, 
mamma;  just  like  yours.  I'm  going 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

to  call  my  boat  the  'Walbash.'  That 
sounds  so  nice  and  swushy,  like  a  boat 
ought  to.  Vandelia  might  have  got 
married,  of  course,  but  the  butter- 
woman  says  she  just  despises  the  men, 
the  hull  kitten  caboodle  on  'em. 
What  does  that  mean  ?  I  asked  Van- 
delia, and  she  was  mad,  but  she  said 
she  could  have  had  'em  by  the  half- 
dozen  just  the  same." 

But  in  the  midst  of  these  confiden- 
tial shrieks  a  little  wave  of  homesick- 
ness suddenly  swept  over  Laurie's 
heart,  and  he  wailed  forth,  "Oh, 
mamma,  I  want  to  kiss  you  on  your 
own  dear  lips  so  badly."  Then  Jeanie 
led  him  hurriedly  away,  for  Mrs.  Bell 
was  still  too  near  the  danger-line  to 
bear  the  least  excitement,  but  she 
watched  him  eagerly  while  Brazil  en- 
throned him  on  Bobby  Shafto's  patient 
spine;  and  the  procession  at  last  moved 
off,  with  Laurie  vehemently  kissing  his 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

mittens  to  her  until  he  was  out  of 
sight. 

Certainly  he  was  having  a  good  time. 
So  was  everybody  else  at  the  Hill 
House,  even  Vandelia,  who  had 
secfetly  come  to  the  temperate  con- 
clusion that  if  a  child  had  to  be  a  child, 
he  might  as  well  be  as  near  like  Laurie 
as  possible.  Not  that  she  ever  admit- 
ted such  an  opinion  to  Jeanie,  whom 
she  exasperated  nearly  to  the  murder 
mark  by  always  calling  "Jane."  They 
passed  days  together  without  speaking 
to  each  other  except  through  the 
medium  of  the  innocent  little  third 
party. 

"Laurie,  I  should  think  you  had 
better  ask  Jane  to  get  a  clean  face  on 
you  for  a  change,"  Vandelia  remarked, 
cuttingly,  at  the  dinner-table;  and  by 
way  of  getting  even,  Jeanie  replied  at 
supper-time,  "Laurie,  I  wouldn't  eat 
too  many  of  them  peaches.  Vandelia 
176 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

cans  'em  in  turpentine,  and  you'd  ex- 
plode for  a  long  time  afterward,  if  you 
went  too  near  the  fire." 

"Canned  turkentine,"  repeated  the 
wondering  Laurie  in  alarm. 

"Yes,  turpentine,"  said  Jeanie, 
decidedly.  "Some  likes  it  in  paint, 
and  apperiently  some  likes  it  in 
peaches.  But  I  know  your  pore 
mother  wouldn't  like  it  in  you." 

Both  Jeanie  and  Vandelia  were  Pres- 
byterians, but  unfortunately  not  of  the 
same  stripe;  so  that  it  would  have 
been  much  pleasanter  for  both  of  them 
if  the  other  had  been  a  heathen.  As 
an  Eskimo,  Vandelia's  heart  would 
have  warmed  towards  Jeanie,  and  as  a 
Fijian,  Jeanie  would  have  offered  both 
hands  to  Vandelia,  with  a  Mother 
Hubbard  in  one  and  the  Westminster 
creed  in  the  other. 

Vandelia  took  great  pride  in  her 
liberality  of  thought;  she  despised 
177 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

Jeanie's  narrow-mindedness.  Jeanie 
groaned  over  Vandelia's  godlessness, 
and  pointed  the  moral  of  every  little 
tale  she  told  Laurie  with  a  pin,  subtly 
designed  to  prick  Vandelia's  hardened 
heart. 

For,  like  every  child,  Laurie  was 
very  fond  of  Bible  stories,  and  Jeanie 
related  them  to  him  with  a  wealth  of 
faith  and  detail  which  wore  on  Van- 
delia's improved  intellect. 

"Yes,  darling;  Eve  was  lovely  be- 
fore she  et  the  apple.  We  had  a 
picture  of  her  at  home,  in  the  big 
Bible." 

"Photograph,  darling,"  mimicked 
Vandelia.  "Genuine  snap-shot." 

Jeanie  hunched  her  shoulders  con- 
temptuously, and  went  on  with  her 
tale. 

"She  had  lovely  blue  eyes,  and 
beautiful,  fair  hair,  hanging  all  down 
to  her  feet,  like  ropes  of  gold,  and — " 
178 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

"Well,  now  I'd  just  like  to  know, 
Jane  Buchan,  how  you  can  have  the 
conscience  to  sit  there  and  tell  that 
poor  innocent  boy  such  tales  as  that 
about  a  woman  who  lived  millions  and 
millions  of  years  ago — " 

''Oh,  oh!"  interrupted  Jeanie, 
strongly.  "When  the  Bible  says — " 

"When  we  don't  know  what  color 
her  hair  was,  nor  even  whether  she  had 
any  hair,  or  whether  she  wasn't  all 
hair,  which  is  much  the  most  likely 
thing  of  all,"  pursued  Vandelia,  relent- 
lessly. 

Jeanie  looked  horrified. 

"Why,  Vandelia  Crane!  And 
haven't  we  got  the  exact  picture  of 
Eve,  right  there  in  our  family  Bible, 
now?" 

Vandelia' s  face  was  a  triumph  of 
stage  emotions. 

"Oh,  the  poor  little  ignorant  simple- 
ton! Why,  child,  where  do  you  sup- 
179 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

pose  the  man  who  printed  your  Bible 
got  his  picture  of  Eve,  anyway?" 

Jeanie  had  never  thought  of  this. 

"Why,  just  where  he  got  the  rest 
of  it, ' '  she  said  at  last,  indignantly. 

"And  where 'd  he  get  that?" 

This  was  a  poser.  Jeanie  therefore 
took  refuge  in  personality,  like  most 
of  her  theological  predecessors. 

"Vandelia  Crane,"  she  said,  with 
impressive  solemnity,  "there's  a  verse 
in  the  Bible  that  says,  'And  without 
are  dogs.'  Now,  it's  among  them 
that  you'll  be  when  the  gates  are  shut, 
I  can  tell  you  that." 

But  after  all,  when  Mrs.  Bradney 
came  home,  and  Jeanie  went  back  to 
the  parsonage,  Vandelia  really  missed 
her,  and  she  was  very  fair  in  her  final 
opinion. 

"That  Jeanie's  just  as  impudent  as 
a  fly  on  the  end  of  your  nose.  But 
then  she's  just  as  smart,  too.  And 
180 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

as  for  taking  good  care  of  that  boy! 
Why,  she  acts  as  if  the  whole  world 
was  one  big  orange,  created  a-purpose 
for  him  to  suck.  And  she  ain't  happy 
one  blessed  minute  if  he  ain't  squeez- 
ing all  the  juice  there  is  out  of  the 
occasion." 

Mrs.  Bradney  smiled.  She  had  in 
mind  Jeanie's  remarks  to  Mrs.  Bell 
only  half  an  hour  before.  "Oh,  that 
old  maid,  Vandelia,  ma'am!  Her  bite 
ain't  near  as  poisonous  as  you'd  think 
from  her  bark;  but  my!  she  don't 
know  no  more  about  training  children 
than  I  do  about  teaching  alleygaiters 
how  to  fly." 

Which  seemed  plainly  to  imply  that, 
by  contrast,  Jeanie  considered  herself 
a  whole  Pestalozzian-Froebel  outfit. 

Mrs.    Bradney   seemed   justified    in 

concluding  that  Laurie  had  at  least  had 

the  opportunity  of  having  a  good  time. 

But  he  was  not  to  return  home  for  at 

181 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

least  two  weeks  yet,  not  only  for  his 
own  sake,  but  also  for  his  mother's. 

"Oh,  yes,  you're  all  right  now," 
said  Mrs.  Bradney  to  Mrs.  Bell;  "and 
I  know  Jeanie  will  take  good  care  of 
you.  But  you're  not  going  to  have 
that  boy  back  until  you  are  quite 
strong  again." 

Mrs.  Bell's  face  quivered. 

"Oh,  don't  go  yet.  There  is  some- 
thing I  must  tell  you.  I'm  so  sorry. 
I  said  awful  things  to  you.  And  Dr. 
Bond  says  I  should  have  died  if  it 
hadn't  been  for  you.  Why,  think  of 
what  you've  done  for  me!" 

Mrs.  Bradney  studied  her  in  silence. 
Then  she  said,  with  an  edge  of  sarcasm 
in  her  voice:  "My  dear,  be  honest. 
Why  don't  you  say  you're  sorry  you 
had  to  say  such  things?" 

But  then,  without  giving  Mrs.  Bell 
time  to  answer,  she  bent  over  and 
kissed  her  gently,  and  went  away. 
182 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

She  had  never  kissed  an  alien  woman 
in  her  life  before. 

Like  many  people  who  have  brought 
up  one  child,  and  that  a  girl,  Mrs. 
Bradney  was  quite  sure  she  knew  all 
about  "children."  Consequently,  the 
next  two  weeks  were  rampant  with 
surprises  for  her.  When  she  and 
Laurie  sat  down  to  their  first  meal  to- 
gether she  had  a  moment's  embarrass- 
ment. She  was  very  anxious  to  do 
the  proper  thing  by  him,  and  she  was 
certain  that  he  must  be  accustomed  to 
the  formality  of  a  "blessing"  in  his 
own  home.  But  as  if  in  magic  divina- 
tion of  her  predicament,  Laurie  chirped 
out  blithely: 

"Oh,  Auntie  Rell!  I'll  ask  the  bless- 
ing." 

"Very  well,"  she  answered,  with  a 
prudent  air  of  concession;  and  in- 
stantly, with  the  gusto  of  a  cannon- 
ball  in  quest  of  its  goal,  he  burst  out: 
183 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

"Lord,  bless  to  us  what  now  we  like, 
to  do  us  good,  for  Jesus'  sake,  Amen." 

She  was  quite  sure  that  through  the 
half-open  door  she  heard  Vandelia 
strangle  a  giggle  in  the  kitchen  at  this 
neat  intimation  of  Laurie's,  and  she 
heard  another  when  he  fixed  her  with 
his  eye,  and  remarked,  sweetly: 

"I'm  not  a  bit  bread-and-butter 
hungry,  Auntie  Rell,  but,  oh!  I'm 
awful  cooky  hungry." 

Vandelia  beamed  upon  him.  She 
could  not  resist  this  tribute  to  her 
genius,  for  she  did  consider  herself  a 
"dabster"  in  the  cooky  line.  But 
Mrs.  Bradney  said,  kindly: 

"Yes,  I  dare  say,  Laurie;  but  Van- 
delia has  a  boiled  egg  for  you  now." 

"Yes;  but  it  doesn't  seem  to  me  I 
want  an  egg — not  now,"  he  added, 
with  a  provisional  eye  for  future 
needs.  "Besides,  I'm  sure  Vandelia 
boiled  this  one  upside  down." 
184 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

This  objection  occurred  to  him  sud- 
denly, and  he  evidently  expected  it  to 
prove  insurmountable;  but  Mrs.  Brad- 
ney  beguiled  him,  and  at  length  he 
consented  to  eat  the  despised  egg. 
But  not  until  he  had  extracted  from 
her  a  promise  that  he  should  have  a 
"sample"  of  everything  on  the  table. 
While  he  ate  it  he  discoursed  on  the 
subject  of  eggs  in  general. 

"Turkeys  lay  eggs.  We  et  our  last 
turkey.  It  was  full  of  turkey-bread, 
but  Jeanie  put  that  in.  I  saw  her. 
But  the  next  turkey  we  get,  I'm  going 
to  coax  mamma  to  keep  him  in  the 
yard  and  have  him  lay  eggs." 

"Vandelia,  will  you  pass  the  olives, 
please,"  said  Mrs.  Bradney. 

"The  man  that  sold  that  turkey  to 
mamma,  Auntie  Rell,  said  it  was  a 
very,  very  good  turkey  indeed,  and 
that  if  we  found  it  wasn't  pure  turkey 
all  the  way  through,  we  could  give  it 
185 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

back  to  him  after — after — "  Laurie 
hesitated,  vaguely  conscious  of  some 
difficulty  here,  and  then  discreetly 
shifted  his  cargo  of  conversation  to 
another  track. 

"Ants  lay  larvas,  anyway,"  he  an- 
nounced, with  the  firmness  of  convic- 
tion. "I  know,  for  the  book  mamma 
reads  to  me  says  so.  And  I  think  the 
pointed-back  ones  are  queens.  But 
it's  better  not  to  be  sure." 

Mrs.  Bradney  laughed  suddenly. 

"Child,"  she  exclaimed,  "how  you 
manage  to  eat  so  much  and  say  so 
much  at  one  and  the  same  time,  I 
can't  think." 

"Can't  you?  Why,  it's  easy, 
Auntie  Rell."  He  studied  her  seri- 
ously for  a  moment,  and  then  said, 
with  the  inconsequent  directness  which 
she  found  so  paralyzing: 

"Are  you  all  over  blood  inside?" 

' '  Why  yes,  child.  Yes,  I  suppose  so. ' ' 
1 86 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

"I  am,"  he  remarked,  gravely.  "It's 
red,  you  know.  What's  yours?  I 
thought  perhaps  you  were  all  bones 
inside.  You  don't  look  bloody. " 

Vandelia  choked  as  she  passed  the 
hot  biscuits.  It  struck  her  as  irresisti- 
bly funny  to  hear  her  mistress's  in 
and  out  sides  discussed  with  such  free- 
dom. 

"Pigeons  lay  eggs,  too,  but  their 
eggs  are  nearly  always  males  or  she- 
males.  Oh,  yes,  they  are.  Anyway, 
the  Science  Primer  says  so." 

He  had  finished  his  egg  now,  and 
he  pushed  his  saucer  away.  Then  he 
carefully  scanned  Mrs.  Bradney's  plate. 

"What  are  you  eating,  Auntie 
Rell?" 

"Ham." 

"Ham?     What's  it  made  of ?" 

"Pork." 

"Pig  pork?" 

He  spoke  with  the  critical  air  of  one 
187 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

who  was  up  to  a  thing  or  two,  and  not 
likely  to  be  deceived  by  a  bogus  article. 

"It  really  looks  quite  nice,"  he  re- 
marked, condescendingly.  ' '  Please  give 
me  too  much." 

He  was  provided  with  an  ample 
plateful  of  provender,  and  there  actu- 
ally was  silence  for  nearly  sixty  sec- 
onds. 

"I  think  I'll  take  another  plum, 
please,  Auntie  Rell.  This  one  is  bad." 

"Plum?  Oh!  an  olive.  Why,  cer- 
tainly, dear.  I'm  sorry  that  one's  not 
good." 

"But  this  one's  bad,  too,"  he  said 
presently.  "Very,  very  bad." 

And  it  was  not  until  four  "bad" 
olives  were  ranged  upon  his  plate  that 
Vandelia  grasped  the  situation,  and 
exclaimed,  feelingly: 

"Land  of  Goshen,  child!     They're 
all    bad.     It's    the     nature    of    'em. 
Didn't  you  ever  eat  'em  before?" 
188 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

"No,  Vandelia,  and  I  never  will 
again,"  he  said,  firmly.  "I  feel  like 
paint  and  oysters  all  over  inside." 

After  he  had  drunk  a  great  deal  of 
hot  milk  and  water,  and  was  partially 
convalescent,  he  asked,  abruptly: 

"Does  Vandelia  ever  make  scarlet 
roosters  for  supper,  Auntie  Rell?" 

Mrs.  Bradney  looked  really  amazed. 

"Scarlet  roosters?"  she  repeated, 
faintly. 

"Yes;  Jeanie  does.  Mamma  showed 
her  how.  She  always  makes  six. 
Then  I  have  two." 

"Six  scarlet  roosters!  And  you 
have  two?" 

"Why,  of  course,  Auntie  Rell.  But 
Mrs.  Bond  buys  hers.  In  a  box,  you 
know.  At  De  Spelder's. " 

"For  the  love  of  anything,  ma'am! 

It    must   be    Charlotte     Rootches   he 

means,"    put    in    Vandelia,    who  had 

been    hovering  about,    green-eared  at 

189 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

this  recital  of  Jeanie's  culinary  feats. 
"Flummery  kickshaws,  I  should  call 
'em." 

"Would  you?"  said  Laurie,  in  aston- 
ishment. "I  don't  believe  they'd 
know  what  you  wanted,  Vandelia. 
But  do  you  think  if  I  planted  this 
stone,  Auntie  Rell,  it  would  grow  up 
cooked  peaches?  'Cause  the  stone's 
cooked,  you  see." 

"Well,  child,  I  wish  it  would," 
sighed  Vandelia. 

"What  do  you  do,  Auntie  Rell, 
when  chickens  won't  lay  their  eggs  in 
their  nests?" 

"I'm  sure  I  don't  know,  Laurie." 

"Oh,  I  do.  You  ought  to  put  a 
nice  smooth  egg  made  of  white  wood 
in  the  nest.  Then  the  next  time  the 
chicken  came  by  he  would  look  in  and 
say,  'Why,  some  other  people  have 
been  here  laying  eggs,  and  now  I 
needn't  mind.'  ' 

190 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

Mrs.  Bradney  laughed. 

"Oh,  but  Brazil  told  me  that,"  ex- 
postulated  Laurie,  evidently  feeling 
that  her  amusement  cast  a  slur  upon 
the  statement. 

"Well,  it  doesn't  sound  just  like 
Brazil,"  remarked  Mrs.  Bradney;  for 
Brazil  was  a  painfully  exact  and  un- 
imaginative person  whose  own  mental 
processes  could  be  no  more  obscure  to 
the  hen  than  the  hen's  to  him. 

The  next  day  was  wet,  and  Laurie 
could  not  go  out  to  play.  The  rain 
began  with  a  heavy  thunder-storm, 
which  delighted  him. 

"Hooray!  listen  to  that  big  heaven- 
cracker!"  he  shrieked  after  a  most 
appalling  clap  right  over  their  heads. 
' '  I  guess  they  think  up  there  it's  Fourth 
of  July,  Auntie  Rell." 

But  when  the  thunder  had  exhausted 
itself  the  rain  kept  steadily  on,  and 
Mrs.  Bradney  soon  discovered  that  an 
191 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

active  boy  can  wear  out  more  expedi- 
ents designed  for  his  entertainment  in 
half  an  hour  than  six  girls  could  in 
three  weeks. 

At  last  in  despair  she  said  to  him: 
"Oh,  go  upstairs,  and  fill  the  bath  full 
of  water,  if  you  want  to,  and  sail  all 
the  boats  you  like." 

When  she  went  up,  after  a  while,  to 
change  her  dress,  she  found  him  carry- 
ing on  an  active  conversation  with  a 
toothpick,  which  was  propped  up 
against  the  tap. 

"Do  you  want  to  work  on  my 
boat?"  he  inquired,  sternly.  "Well, 
are  you  a  member  of  our  church?" 

"Don't  you  think  that's  a  pretty 
rigorous  test  of  seamanship,  Laurie?" 

"Oh!  but,  Auntie Rell,  you're  bound 
to  have  rigging  on  a  ship.  Come  and 
look  at  my  boat.  She's  called  the 
'  Suspender. '  She  goes  beautifully  with 
her  sail,  when  I  lead  her  with  a  string." 
192 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

Mrs.  Bradney  laughed.  "Well, 
under  the  circumstances  I  think  the 
name's  first-class,  but  I  suppose  you 
mean  'Defender.'  ' 

Laurie  looked  aggrieved.  "No,  I 
didn't,  Auntie  Rell.  'Suspender' 
sounds  so  nice  and  —  and  —  sloppy. 
Don't  you  see?  But  look!  There's 
my  cropeller, "  he  said,  pointing  to  a 
soap-dish  ambling  uncertainly  on  the 
face  of  the  domestic  deep.  "And 
that's  a  steam-bard."  He  was  bliss- 
fully unconscious  of  any  difference 
between  bards  and  barges,  or  tin  pie- 
plates,  for  that  matter. 

"But  it's  hard  work  making  waves, 
Auntie  Rell."  He  was  quite  red  in 
the  face  from  his  frantic  efforts  to  stir 
up  a  satisfactory  storm  with  an  egg- 
beater. '  "They  don't  stay  made.  Do 
you  think  God's  got  a  recipe  for  mak- 
ing His  waves,  Auntie  Rell?" 

"I    suppose     so,"     answered    Mrs. 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

Bradney,  slowly.  She  felt  as  if  she 
would  soon  have  to  let  out  a  tuck  in 
her  mind  to  make  room  for  the  incon- 
sequent succession  of  new  ideas  so 
swiftly  presented  to  her. 

' '  Can  butterflies  swim  ?' '  he  inquired, 
earnestly.  "Pigs  can."  But  while  he 
was  waiting  for  her  to  adjust  her  facul- 
ties to  this  transition,  the  toothpick 
sailor  fell  overboard  from  the  slippery 
deck  of  the  soap-dish  into  the  hydrant 
sea. 

"Well,  I  am  sure  you  needn't  make 
such  a  fuss  about  that,"  said  Laurie, 
contemptuously,  as  he  rescued  him. 
"Don't  you  know  that  John  advertised 
Jesus  in  Jordan?  This  ought  to  be 
good  enough  for  you." 

Just  then  Vandelia  appeared  in  the 
doorway.  "Land  of  Goshen!"  she 
exclaimed,  severely.  "Laurie  Bell! 
And  you  a  minister's  son!  And  not  a 
dry  thread  on  your  back!" 
194 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

She  stamped  imposingly  around  the 
inundated  bathroom,  and  descanted 
eloquently  on  the  utter  ruin  to  the 
splashed-up  walls,  but  she  quite 
ignored  Mrs.  Bradney.  Vandelia  was 
enjoying  herself  royally.  It  was  so 
good  to  be  able  to  tongue-lash  her  mis- 
tress in  this  safe,  second-hand  style. 

Suddenly  she  said,  in  quite  an 
altered  tone,  and  as  if  she  had  only 
that  moment  become  aware  of  Mrs. 
Bradney 's  presence:  "Mrs.  Oblender 
is  waiting  downstairs  to  see  you, 
ma'am." 

Mrs.  Bradney  melted  meekly  away. 

And  then  Vandelia  sat  down  and 
sailed  boats  for  a  while. 

Mrs.  Oblender  was  very  big  and 
very  red,  and  as  she  talked  on  and  on 
more  and  more  breathily  about  the 
"unheeded  whails  of  the  indignant 
poor,"  she  deepened  in  tint  and 
swelled  in  size  until  it  looked  positively 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

dangerous,  and  any  humane  person 
would  almost  have  been  driven  to  con- 
cede her  side  of  an  argument  in  order 
to  save  her  life. 

Mrs.  Oblender  was  very  new  to 
Sand  Harbor.  She  was  also  very  new 
to  her  position  as  the  wife  of  a  sud- 
denly rich  man,  and  after  some  rather 
trying  experiments  as  a  social  star  she 
had  concluded  that  philanthropy  was 
her  forte,  and  that  she  could  probably 
make  far  more  noise  in  the  world  with 
less  money  in  that  way.  So  just  now 
she  was  pronouncing  organization  with 
a  capital  O,  and  fondly  imagining 
herself  the  president  of  a  ponderous 
society  for  the  philosophical  study  of 
the  poor. 

"Oh,  yes;  I  dare  say  a  bureau  of 
charities  is  a  necessity  in  a  large  city 
Mrs.  Oblender,"  said  Mrs.  Bradney; 
"but  here  in  Sand  Harbor  we  have 
every  means  of  knowing  our  poor  and 
196 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

caring  for  them  in  the  simplest  and 
most  informal  manner.  I'm  afraid  of 
machinery  myself." 

Just  then  the  door  opened,  and 
Laurie  trotted  in,  dry  and  decent — in 
fact,  as  charming  as  Vandelia  could 
make  him.  He  climbed  into  Mrs. 
Bradney's  lap,  and  clasping  his  arms 
around  her  neck,  whispered,  stagily: 

"Oh,  send  her  away,  Auntie  Rell; 
I  like  you  best  all  to  myself." 

Mrs.  Oblender  watched  this  pro- 
ceeding in  some  astonishment.  Se- 
cretly she  stood  very  much  in  awe  of 
Mrs.  Bradney,  but  there  was  certainly 
no  fear  about  this  child,  and  she  found 
that  fact  encouraging. 

"Come  here,  dear.  What's  your 
name?"  she  asked,  with  a  wide,  thin- 
lipped  smile.  "Bradney,  I  guess. 
You're  just  the  living  image  of  your 
grandma. ' ' 

"No,"    said     the     child,     shortly. 
197 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

"I'm  Laurie  Bell.  That's  what  God 
calls  me,  anyway." 

Mrs.  Oblender  bristled.  That  was 
a  strange  way  for  a  child  to  talk,  she 
thought.  Why,  the  irreverence  of  it! 

"Oh,  the  minister's  little  boy!" 
She  looked  at  Mrs.  Bradney.  "Well, 
I  wouldn't  go  to  that  church.  Why, 
that  young  man's  positively  dangerous. 
I  wonder  somebody  don't  do  some- 
thing about  it." 

Mrs.  Bradney's  chin  lifted. 

"Dangerous?"  she  repeated.  "What 
to?  Really,  Mrs.  Oblender,  you  need 
not  be  afraid.  Dr.  Bond  says  there  is 
not  the  slightest  chance  of  infection 
now." 

Mrs.  Oblender  felt  a  little  foolish, 
and  wondered  whether  she  had  not  bet- 
ter explain  that  she  meant  something 
far  more  to  be  dreaded  than  diphtheria. 
But  Laurie  had  approached  quite  near 
to  her,  and  was  looking  at  her  critically. 
198 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

He  was  usually  a  very  polite  child,  but 
certainly,  as  Mrs.  Bradney  said  to 
Vandelia,  damp  weather  had  a  very 
demoralizing  effect  on  him.  Mrs. 
Oblender  began  to  gush  over  him 
noisily,  but  Laurie  was  not  duped,  for 
he  had  the  discrimination  which  chil- 
dren share  with  the  dog  who  always 
knows  whether  a  bone  is  given  to  him 
or  thrown  at  him. 

"Are  you  a  white  lady?"  he  asked, 
unexpectedly.  "Because  I  don't  think 
you  are.  You  look  like  Jeanie  when 
the  poison  ivory  stung  her." 

"Laurie!" 

"Yes,  Auntie  Rell,  but  I  want  to 
tell  her  that  I'm  going  to  have  a  circus 
when  I'm  a  man.  The  ladies  will  sit 
in  the  topper  seats,  and  the  men  in 
the  downer  ones.  Wouldn't  you  like 
to—" 

A  wild  terror  seized  Mrs.  Bradney 
that  he  might  be  going  to  suggest  that 
199 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

her  visitor  should  fill  the  role  of  the 
Fat  Lady  from  Madagascar,  or  the 
Bearded  Giantess  from  Yang-hi-tchoo. 

"Laurie,"  she  said,  gravely,  "ask 
Vandelia  to  go  up  to  the  garret  with 
you  and  see  if  the  south  end  is  leak- 
ing." 

Then  she  turned  to  Mrs.  Oblender, 
and  said,  with  a  sweetness  which 
sugar-coated  all  that  lady's  vague  dis- 
comfitures: 

"I'm  sure  we  have  every  reason  to 
feel  grateful  to  you,  Mrs.  Oblender, 
for  the  interest  you  are  taking  in  our 
people,  and  I  know  that  your  wisdom 
and  experience  will  suggest  to  us  many 
improvements  on  our  old-fashioned 
methods." 

Afterward  she  had  a  serious  little 
talk  with  Laurie. 

"All  right,  Auntie  Rell;  I'll  never 
do  it  again.  But  I  don't  think  she's 
pretty,  and  why  does  she  wear  little 

200 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

lanterns  in  her  ears?  But  I  know  who 
is  pretty. ' ' 

"Who?"  Mrs.  Bradney  felt  quite 
interested. 

"Vandelia.    She's  as  thin  as  a  pin." 

Well,  if  that  was  his  standard  of 
beauty,  Mrs.  Bradney  felt  that  Mrs. 
Oblender's  case  was  hopeless  indeed. 
But  alas!  It  was  still  raining  in  heavy, 
straight  lines,  and  Laurie  went  over  to 
the  window  and  looked  out  dolefully. 
At  last  he  said,  in  a  tone  of  reproachful 
remonstrance : 

"Now,  God,  this  is  the  third  time 
to-day  that  I've  asked  you  to  turn  off 
that  rain,  and  you  haven't  done  it  yet." 

"But  just  think  how  good  this  rain 
is  for  the  farmers, "  said  Mrs.  Bradney. 

"But,  Auntie  Rell,  there  are  a  mil- 
lion times  more  boys  in  the  world 
than  farmers,  and  I  know  there  isn't 
one  single  boy  who  wants  it  to  rain. 

' '  I  know  what, ' '  said  Vandelia,  com- 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

passionately.  "You  send  Brazil  over 
for  his  little  girl,  ma'am.  She's  a  real 
tidy  child,  and  they'd  have  the  best 
time  together  this  whole  blessed  after- 
noon. There  ain't  anything  quite  so 
entertaining  to  a  child  as  some  other 
child." 

But  when  little  Mary  Pinch  first 
found  herself  in  Mrs.  Bradney's  sit- 
ting-room she  was  speechless  with 
alarm,  for  her  mother  had  given  her  so 
many  agonized  last  directions  as  to  her 
behavior  that  she  could  only  helplessly 
remember  that  she  had  forgotten  them 
all.  So  after  several  quite  ineffectual 
attempts  to  thaw  her  out,  Mrs.  Brad- 
ney  went  away.  Perhaps  if  they  were 
left  alone  a  while  the  two  children 
would  do  something  besides  stare  at 
each  other. 

"What's  your  name?"  inquired 
Laurie  the  moment  the  door  was  shut. 

"Mary  Pinch." 

202 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

"Mary  Pinch.     Pinch — like  that?" 

"No,  like  that,"  retaliated  Mary, 
promptly  delivering  a  punch,  under 
which  Laurie  sat  down  quite  unex- 
pectedly to  himself. 

"Now  you've  broken  my  skeleton 
all  to  bits, "  he  wailed ;  but  Mary  looked 
coldly  unconcerned,  and  then  he  asked, 
reproachfully : 

"Are  you  a  girl?" 

"Yes,  lam." 

"Don't  you  wish  you  were  a  boy?" 

"No,  I  don't,"  retorted  Mary,  with 
unmistakable  indignation. 

"Well,  I  do.  You'd  know  so  much 
more  about  'lectricity." 

"No,  I  shouldn't.  I'd  be  ashamed 
to,"  said  Mary,  severely. 

"Well,  when  I  get  up  to  heaven  I'm 
going  to  have  four  legs,"  announced 
Laurie,  with  a  lightning  change  of  sub- 
ject. "Two  to  walk  with,  and  two  to 
kick  with." 

203 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

"Then  you'll  look  just  like  a  dog," 
said  Mary,  scornfully. 

"Well,  I  don't  care,  Mary  Pinch. 
In  your  last  incrownation  you  were 
only  an  old  pig,  anyway." 

This  remark  was  the  baneful  result 
of  an  innocent  discussion  on  theoso- 
phy  between  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bell,  in 
which  Laurie's  ears  had  evidently 
played  an  absorbing  part. 

Mary  moved  toward  her  hat. 

"I  guess  I'll  go,"  she  said,  with 
dignity. 

Laurie  looked  anxious.  "If  you 
stay,  I  might  p'r'aps  tell  you  the  story 
of  Jonah  of  Arc.  Auntie  Rell  read  it 
to  me." 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Mary,  weakly. 
"Auntie  Rell"  and  "Jonah  of  Arc" 
were  equally  unknown  characters  to 
her,  but  she  had  a  thirst  for  knowl- 
edge, and  this  mouthing  of  great 
names  had  its  effect  upon  her.  But 
204 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

she  wouldn't  let   Laurie  suspect  that 
for  anything. 

"Oh,  I  don't  care  about  that.  I've 
got  a  lovely  cat.  It's  called  Grandma." 

"Huh!  I've  got  two.  Vandelia 
got  them  for  me.  One's  called  Circe, 
and  one's  called  Esau.  Esau's  called 
Esau  because  he  was  Jacob's  brother, 
you  know;  and  Circe — well,  Circe's 
called  Circe — because — oh !  Ulysses 
knew  all  about  Circe,  anyway." 

"Do  they  scratch?" 

Laurie  nodded  vigorously,  and 
looked  tenderly  at  one  finger. 

"See  that  flustering?  That's  where 
Esau  scratched  me.  Auntie  Rell  put 
gasoline  on  it." 

"Vaseline,"  said  Mary,  with  the 
contempt  of  infinite  knowledge. 

"Yes,  but  have  you  ever  had  your 
picturegraph  taken,  Mary?" 

"No;  but  I  can  spell  Con-stan-sty- 
no-ble." 

205 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

"Well,  I  used  to  could,"  said 
Laurie,  with  the  air  of  one  who  was 
sure  he  must  have  forgotten  more  than 
Mary  ever  knew.  "But  I  think  we'd 
better  play  soldiers  now,"  he  added, 
quickly.  "I've  got  a  sword  and  a 
snap-sack.  I'll  be  the  Newnited  States 
and  you  can  be  Spanish,  and  I'll  kill 
you  with  the  sword." 

But  there  was  a  long  argument 
about  that,  and  it  was  only  settled 
finally  by  their  arranging  to  take  turns 
at  being  the  slaughtered  Spaniard. 
Then  another  storm  arose  over  the 
soldier's  belt,  which  Mary  monopolized 
entirely,  it  being  altogether  too  small 
for  Laurie's  aldermanic  proportions. 

"Well,  what  do  you  mean  by  being 
so  fat,  and  then  fussing  about  it  so?" 
she  inquired,  indignantly.  "You 
ought  to  be  ashamed.  Why,  your 
waist  is  bigger  than  my  pa's,  and  he's 
forty-one  years  old." 
206 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

"Now,  see  here,  Mary  Pinch,  you're 
feeling  too  homely  in  this  house,  and — 
and — I  knew  your  father  before  you 
did,  anyway,"  said  Laurie,  groping  for 
a  suitable  insult,  and  not  at  all  caring 
whether  it  adhered  to  the  subject 
under  discussion  or  not. 

"Why,  for  the  land  sake!"  ex- 
claimed the  six-year-old  Mary,  in 
strong  tones.  "I  knew  him  when  he 
was  a  little  boy. 

"Yes,  but  I  knew  him  up  in  heaven, 
before  he  was  borned  down  here,"  de- 
clared Laurie,  stoutly.  "He  had 
wings  on  then.  I  wonder  how  they 
get  wings  on." 

These  flights  into  the  supernatural 
were  too  much  for  Mary,  but  by  way 
of  retaliation  she  picked  up  the  belt, 
and  began  cruelly  to  crowd  Laurie 
into  it.  But  even  the  strength  of 
revenge  was  unequal  to  the  task,  and 
Laurie  wailed  with  mortification. 
207 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

"Oh,  dear!  I  wish  there  wasn't  so 
much  of  me,  Mary.  Is  it  because  I 
eat  too  much?" 

"Why,  of  course  it  is,"  said  Mary, 
disdainfully. 

"Well,  if  that  don't  beat  all,"  re- 
marked Vandelia  to  herself  as  she 
passed  through  the  room.  "And  your 
own  ma  told  me  only  last  week  that 
you  eat  like  an  elephant,  with  the 
digestion  of  an  ostrich,  for  all  that 
you're  such  a  scrawny  little  scrimp 
that  decent  victuals  wouldn't  own  to 
feeding  you." 

However,  after  Laurie  found  that  a 
soldier  could  parade  just  as  noisily  in 
a  belt  cut  from  an  extra-sized  edition 
of  the  daily  paper,  he  recovered  his 
spirits,  and  the  massacres  proceeded  as 
before  until  he  decided  to  refresh  him- 
self by  eating  the  only  apple  in  sight. 
This  called  forth  from  Mary  some 
distinctly  audible  remarks  about 
208 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

"green-eye  greedy,"  which  Laurie 
resented  as  unmistakably  personal,  but 
he  finally  offered  a  compromise. 

"No,  Mary,  I  can't  give  you  the 
apple  now,  because  it's  all  eaten,  but 
you  may  have  the  core  and  the 
bruise." 

Naturally  enough,  Mary  construed 
this  as  adding  gross  insult  to  injury, 
and  Vandelia  hearing  the  riot  from 
afar,  considered  it  prudent  to  inter- 
fere. 

"Can't  you  two  children  play 
together  like  Christians,  without  mak- 
ing such  an  outlandish  racket?  I 
guess  they  can  hear  you  in  town." 

"Of  course  we  could,  Vandelia," 
answered  Laurie,  promptly.  "But  it's 
so  much  more  inter-rusting  not  to." 

Vandelia  went  away  with  a  grim 
smile  underneath  her  judicial  severity. 
"But  it  don't  appear  to  me  children 


209 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

talked  like  that  in  my  day,"  she 
mused. 

After  this  dreadfully  exciting  time, 
they  rested  themselves  by  looking 
through  the  "picture-telescope,"  as 
Laurie  called  the  kaleidoscope,  until 
he  unfortunately  nudged  Mary  on  the 
arm,  thereby  upsetting  a  very  splendid 
sunlight  sonata  in  every  color  at  once. 
Then  they  slapped  each  other  a  little 
while,  until  it  occurred  to  Laurie  that 
it  would  be  a  pleasing  change  to  play 
"gurdy-organ,"  with  Mary  as  instru- 
ment and  himself  as  grinder. 

That  did  nicely,  until  Mary  got  out 
of  tune  from  overpractice  and  Laurie 
ground  her  a  trifle  too  heavily  in  her 
left  side. 

But  after  Vandelia  had  separated 
the  grinder  and  the  ground,  and  had 
restored  peace  with  a  couple  of  cookies, 
they  took  a  very  affectionate  farewell 
of  each  other. 

210 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

"But  you  know,  Mary,  I  shan't  be 
able  to  marry  you,"  said  Laurie, 
regretfully. 

"Why  not?"  demanded  Mary, 
indignantly. 

"Why,  because  you  haven't  got  my 
color  hair.  People  must  always  marry 
people  with  their  same  hair." 

"I  don't  believe  it,"  declared  Mary, 
earnestly. 

"Well,  don't  get  your  heart  set  on 
it,  anyway,  Mary,  'cause — 'cause — I 
might  see  somebody  I  liked  better." 

"Then  you'll  be  a  mean,  greedy 
boy,"  screamed  Mary  out  of  the  dark- 
ness into  which  she  was  disappearing. 
"But  I  don't  care.  I'll  marry  you 
anyway,  whether  you  want  to  or  not." 

"Well,  Laurie,  did  you  and  Mary 
have  a  nice  time  together?"  asked  Mrs. 
Bradney,  when  he  came  and  nestled 
up  against  her. 

"Oh,    Auntie    Rell,  we  had  just  a 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

beloved  time,"  he  answered,  with  a 
tired  sigh  of  reminiscence.  "It  was 
gorgeant.  But  do  men  have  to  get 
married  whether  they  want  to  or  not, 
Auntie  Rell?  Because,  Mary  wants 
me  to." 


CHAPTER   IX 

"I  know  a  baldheaded  man,  Bra- 
zil." 

"Do,  eh?     Who's  that?" 

"Oh,  I  can't  tell  you,  Brazil.  Why, 
don't  you  see  you're  the  very  one  I 
can't  tell?" 

"Can't?  Well,  I'd  like  to  know 
why." 

"Oh,  no!  Auntie  Rell  said  we 
simply  mustn't  talk  about  other  peo- 
ple's looks.  Mrs.  Oblender's  got 
looks,  you  know." 

"First  time  I  knew  it,"  muttered 
Brazil. 

"Yes;  but  you  must  not  say  so," 
continued  Laurie. 

"And  I  might  hurt  your  feelings, 
213 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

you  see,  Brazil.  But  I  really  do  know 
a  baldheaded  man." 

"And  yet  you  won't  tell  me!  Now 
that's  what  I  call  real  mean.  I  guess 
I  won't  bother  much  about  saddling 
Bobby  Shafto  after  this." 

"Oh,  dear!"  Laurie  looked  sorely 
distressed.  He  stood  first  on  one  foot 
and  then  on  the  other  in  an  agony  of 
indecision. 

At  last  he  said,  beseechingly: 

"Now,  you'll  promise  not  to  have 
your  feelings  hurt,  Brazil?" 

"I  don't  know  about  that,"  said 
Brazil,  cruelly.  "But  I  know  I'm 
through  with  saddling  Bobby  Shafto." 

"My,  my!"  Laurie  wrung  his 
hands.  "There's  only  one  way  I  can 
tell  you.  It's  this.  The  next  time 
you  look  in  your  looking-glass" — he 
paused  miserably — "you'll  know  who 
the  baldheaded  man  is."  He  shot  out 
the  last  few  words  in  a  frantic  whisper. 
214 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

Brazil  took  off  his  hat,  and  felt  his 
head  meditatively. 

"Oh,  don't  do  that!"  exclaimed 
Laurie,  anxiously.  "It'll  hurt  your 
feelings  if  you  do.  Besides,  when 
you're  a  soldier  in  war,  do  they  give 
you  time  to  blow  your  nose,  Brazil? 
Because  if  they  don't,  I  don't  believe 
I'll  be  a  soldier." 

"Bless  my  braces!  If  you  don't 
beat  a  flea  at  turning  a  handspring, 
young  feller!  First  it's  heads  and 
then  it's  noses." 

"Yes,"  said  Laurie,  sweetly.  "But 
did  you  ever  dream  you  were  anointed 
king  of  Israel,  Brazil?  I  did  last  night. 
Everybody  came  to  see  it — all  the 
heaven  people,  I  mean — and  the 
angels  flew  around  blowing  their — " 

"Noses?"  suggested  Brazil,  irrever- 
ently. 

"No,  no;  their  trumpets,  Brazil. 
And  God  said,  'Hurry  up  and  get 
215 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

dressed  quick,  or  you  won't  see  the 
show.'  You  never  saw  such  a  time.. 
My!  It  was  awful." 

"You  bet!"  ejaculated  Brazil,  fer- 
vently. 

"And  a  little  girl  up  there  dropped 
her  heaven  spear,  and  it  fell  right  down 
on  her  papa,  and  killed  him  dead. 
My,  but  he  was  mad !  He  went  right 
up  to  heaven,  and  punished  her  se- 
verely, Brazil.  Why,  he — he — cut 
off  her  leg." 

Brazil  looked  paralyzed. 

"So  then  she  was  tooken  to  the 
Unatic  Aasylum,  of  course.  But  do 
you  know  where  liars  go,  Brazil?" 

"Liars?" 

"Yes,  of  course.  You  know  that 
means  you,  Brazil." 

"Liars,  me!" 

"Yes,  because  Auntie  Rell  says  you 
never  told  me  about  the  chickens  and 
the  wooden  eggs,  you  see." 
216 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

''But  I  did." 

' '  Yes,  I  suppose  you  did, " said  Laurie, 
calmly.  "But  you  shouldn't  have." 

"Why  not,  I'd  like  to  know?" 

"Because  you  must  always  tell  the 
truth,  Brazil." 

"But  it  was  the  truth,"  protested 
Brazil,  wildly. 

"Yes,  I  know.  But  it's  wrong  to 
tell  lies,  isn't  it,  Brazil?" 

Brazil's  face  was  a  study.  Some- 
thing was  wrong,  but  his  brain  refused 
to  grapple  with  the  mystery.  He 
would  grapple  with  Laurie  instead. 
But  at  this  moment  Vandelia  called 
Laurie  from  the  porch. 

"Laurie,  come  in  to  your  supper." 

"Yes,  Vandelia;  but  I've  just  eaten 
four  slices  of  bread  to  two  pieces  of 
cheese,  and  don't  you  think  that  was  a 
pretty  good  score?" 

"Where  did  you  get  that,  I'd  like 
to  know?"  asked  Vandelia,  severely. 
217 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

"Oh,  I  helped  myself  in  the  pantry, 
thank  you,"  said  Laurie,  cheerfully, 
as  he  went  indoors. 

Brazil  sought  healing  for  his  out- 
raged feelings  by  stating  his  case  to 
Vandelia.  But  she  only  laughed. 

"'Tain't  safe  to  argue  with  a  child," 
she  remarked,  sagely.  "You're  bound 
to  get  left." 

"Well,  I  know  one  thing,"  Brazil 
concluded,  finally.  "That  boy's  cut 
out  for  a  lawyer.  He'd  muddle  you 
all  up  in  the  innocentest  way  until 
you'd  be  beggin'  to  sign  your  own 
death-warrant,  with  tears  of  gratitood 
for  the  privilege." 

It  was  Saturday  evening,  and  after 
Laurie  had  disposed  of  a  supper  which 
threatened  his  existence,  in  spite  of 
his  continual  insistence  that  he  really 
had  no  "appletite, "  a  procession  was 
formed  for  the  bathroom,  for  his  ab- 
lutions were  a  serious  matter,  and 
218 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

seemed  to  demand  the  united  energies 
of  Mrs.  Bradney  and  Vandelia. 

"I'll  go  first  with  the  lamp,  and  you 
can  carry  up  that  pile  of  things,  Van- 
delia. Laurie,  you  can  bring  up  the 
rear." 

But  when  they  were  half-way  up  the 
stairs  Laurie  called  after  them  distract- 
edly: 

"But  where  is  it,  Auntie  Rell?  I've 
hunted  for  it  everywhere." 

"Where  is  what?" 

"Why  the  rear,  Auntie  Rell.  You 
said  I  must  bring  it  up." 

"For  creation  sake!"  ejaculated 
Vandelia.  "Why,  you're  it  yourself, 
child.  Get  along." 

Laurie  sat  down  and  began  to  unbut- 
ton his  shoes.  But  suddenly  he  looked 
up,  and  said,  sweetly: 

"Here,  Auntie  Rell,  you  may  take 
off  my  shoes.  It  will  give  you  some- 
thing to  do." 

219 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

Vandelia  chuckled.  If  she  had  not 
liked  the  child  for  anything  else,  she 
would  have  adored  him  for  the  manner 
in  which  he  ordered  her  stately  mis- 
tress about. 

"Vandelia,  did  you  ever  have  the 
measles?" 

"Guess  so." 

"Did  they  perfumigate  you  when 
you  were  done,  Vandelia?" 

"Perfumigate  me?" 

"Oh,  yes,  they  did,  Vandelia.  Be- 
cause they  was  germs  sticking  all  over 
you.  They  perfumigated  mamma, 
and  they  perfumigated  me  once,  too. 
Only  I  was  so  little  I  can't  remember 
when.  But  my  tempiture  was  two 
hundred  and  fifty." 

"Well,  for  a  boy  that  thinks  nothing 
of  a  two  hundred  and  fifty  tempera- 
ture, I  must  say  you're  mighty  hard 
to  suit  in  a  bathtub,"  remarked  Van- 


220 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

delia  presently,  in  tones  of  strong 
exasperation. 

Certainly,  Laurie  was  sensitive. 
The  difference  of  a  degree  or  two  in 
the  temperature  of  the  water  made  a 
bigger  difference  than  degrees  are  usu- 
ally supposed  to. 

And  after  that  was  once  adjusted  a 
great  fleet  of  things  had  to  precede 
him  into  the  bath — the  soap-dish,  the 
match-safe,  some  curiously  shaped 
cardboard,  a  squadron  of  toothpicks, 
and  a  very  handsome  man-of-war, 
which  used  to  be  a  crumb-tray. 

"Do  they  always  call  a  ship  a 
'she'?" 

"Oh,  yes,  I  suppose  so,"  said  Mrs. 
Bradney,  vaguely. 

Laurie  shook  his  head  violently. 
"No,  Auntie  Rell,  I  don't  think  so. 
How  could  you  call  a  man-of-war 
she?" 

Laurie  was  a  very  perishable  article. 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

In  fact,  a  wax  doll  would  have  been 
vulgarly  rugged  in  comparison.  Van- 
delia  had  never  realized  before  that  a 
boy  could  be  so  frail,  but  as  she  cir- 
cumspectly soaped  him  here  and  ten- 
derly mopped  him  there,  she  learned  a 
great  deal  about  boys  and  baths. 

"Land  of  Goshen,  child!"  she  ex- 
claimed at  last.  "Ain't  your  skin  on 
tight?  A  body  would  think  you  were 
afraid  it  was  all  going  to  wipe  off." 

"Yes,  Vandelia;  but  now  you  see 
you've  wiped  my  sweeper  right  into 
my  eye-shutter."  His  lashes  were 
very  long. 

"Now,  Auntie  Rell,  you  may 
scratch  me  if  you  want  to,  but  leave 
the  scratch  on.  Don't  rub  it  off." 

How  sweet  he  was,  and  so  full  of 
roguish  tricks!  But  then  Laurie  was  a 
very  handsome  child.  It  was  not 
likely  that  another  in  a  thousand 
would  be  like  him.  And  heredity  had 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

so  much  to  do  with  these  things.  One 
could  hardly  expect — 

"I  think  you  ought  to  cut  my  hair, 
Auntie  Rell.  If  you  don't,  it'll  all  go 
to  seed  pretty  soon.  Is  the  inside  of 
your  head  full  of  hair-seeds?" 

"Well,  it  may  be,  Laurie;  but  I 
have  hoped  that  there  was  something 
else  there." 

"No,  I  don't  think  so,"  said  Laurie, 
judicially.  "Because  you've  got  so 
much  hair." 

What  a  sweet,  saucy,  dimpled  thing 
he  was!  Well,  nearly  all  children  were, 
for  that  matter.  It  was  only  as  they 
grew  older  that  they  lost  their  charm 
and  hidden  flaws  appeared. 

"Now,  Auntie  Rell,  you're  cutting 
my  scratchers  off  too  short.  I  don't 
like  that  one  bit." 

"But,  Laurie,  they're  like  eagle's 
talons,"  remonstrated  Mrs.  Bradney. 

Laurie  argued  the  point  exhaus- 
223 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

lively,  and  Mrs.  Bradney  was  very 
glad  at  last  to  compromise  by  leaving 
one  "scratcher"  long. 

Then  he  said  some  very  remarkable 
prayers,  which  began  quite  respectably 
and  ended  in  a  free-and-easy  fashion, 
designed  to  include  everything  in  the 
universe  apparently,  from  Circe — ' '  but 
not  Esau,  because  of  that  scratch" — 
down  to  Brazil  and  the  milkman. 
"And  please  feed  Dandy  lots,  dear 
God,  so  he'll  be  fat  and  strong." 

"Who  is  Dandy?"  asked  Mrs.  Brad- 
ney as  she  tucked  him  up. 

"Dandy?  Oh,  that's  my  heaven- 
horse.  Didn't  you  know  that,  Auntie 
Rell?  I've  got  lots  of  heaven-horses, 
but  I  like  Dandy  best." 

"I  should  think  you'd  like  a  few 
of  them  down  here,"  said  Mrs.  Brad- 
ney, dryly.  She  felt  suddenly  mali- 
cious. 

"Oh,  no!  They  wouldn't  like  it  at 
224 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

all  down  here.  It's  so  much  nicer  up 
there." 

"How  do  you  know  they're  up 
there  at  all?" 

The  child  looked  at  her  in  blank 
amazement. 

"I  don't  have  to  know,  Auntie 
Rell.  They  just  are.  Why,  mamma 
told  me  that  when  you  go  up  to 
heaven  God  gives  you  just  what  you 
want  to  make  you  happy.  And,  of 
course,  I  couldn't  want  anything  else 
like  I  want  Dandy,  Auntie  Rell." 

Mrs.  Bradney  sighed.  Her  quick 
malice  had  died  out.  This  little 
child's  simple  faith  awoke  a  hungry 
ache  in  her  heart. 

She  put  out  the  light  and  drew  up 
the  shades,  and  then  sat  down  beside 
him  in  the  slanting  moonlight. 

"Can't  you  sing,  Auntie  Rell?" 

"No,  Laurie,  I  can't." 

"Then  I  must,"  he  said;  and  forth- 
225 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

with  began,  in  a  thin,  sweet  little 
treble : 

"  'Now  the  day  is  over, 
Night  is  drawing  nigh; 
Shadows  of  the  evening 
Steal  across  the  sky. 

"  'Now  the  darkness  gathers, 
Stars  begin  to  peep — '  " 

"Yes,  Auntie  Rell,  but  I  wish  some- 
body would  really  tell  me  why  the 
moon  shuts  up,  and  what  it's  stuck 
on  to." 

He  blew  a  light  kiss  to  his  mother, 
and  after  a  while  Mrs.  Bradney  heard 
him  whisper  softly: 

"Good  night,  Auntie  Rell;  good 
night,  dear  God,"  and  the  next  mo- 
ment he  was  fast  asleep. 

She  sat  there  beside  him  for  a  long 
time.  Sometimes  she  leaned  over  and 
listened  to  the  light  rise  and  fall  of  his 
innocent  breath.  But  her  thoughts 
were  far  away. 

226 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

In  the  night  she  was  awakened  by 
his  sharp  cry : 

"Oh,  Auntie  Rell,  I've  got  a  head- 
ache in  my  tooth!  I've  got  a  head- 
ache in  my  tooth!  You  must  go  to 
the  drunk-store  and  get  me  some 
medicine." 

She  drew  him  in  beside  her,  and 
pillowed  his  throbbing  little  face  upon 
her  arm,  and  after  a  while  he  fell  asleep 
again,  nestled  as  close  against  her  as 
he  could  creep.  But  she  lay  awake, 
her  eyes  filled  at  times  with  unwilling 
tears.  This  child  loved  her  with  a 
most  beguiling  confidence.  That  he 
should  love  her  so  appealed  in  the 
subtlest  way  to  a  certain  innocent  van- 
ity in  her.  She  had  been  conscious 
of  growing  hard,  and  of  pushing  her 
world  farther  and  farther  from  her, 
but  there  must  be  something  lovable 
in  her  still. 

And  yet,  was  she  going  to  close  her 
227 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

heart  against  that  other  little  one  who 
would  have  every  claim  upon  her? 

In  the  morning  she  was  confronted 
with  a  problem  which  completely  dis- 
tracted her  for  a  few  minutes,  espe- 
cially as  she  felt  herself  under  fire  from 
Vandelia's  keen  eye.  For  it  was  Sun- 
day, and  Laurie  always  went  to  church 
with  his  mother  or  Jeanie.  So  he  was 
adorned  in  his  best,  with  the  general 
impression  that  some  one  would  take 
him.  But  who?  For  since  Hilary's 
marriage  Mrs.  Bradney  had  never 
entered  the  church.  Vandelia?  Even 
Mrs.  Bradney  smiled  at  the  thought  of 
Vandelia  consenting  to  conduct  a  child 
to  church. 

"Brazil  wants  to  know  what  time  he 
shalf  have  the  carriage  ready  for  you, 
ma'am?"  blandly  inquired  Vandelia, 
just  as  she  had  reached  this  juncture 
in  her  thoughts. 


228 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

Mrs.  Bradney  raised  her  head 
proudly. 

"At  quarter-past  ten." 

Vandelia  retired  into  the  kitchen, 
and  laid  her  nose  reflectively  against  a 
cold  window-pane. 

"Umh!"  she  said,  after  a  long  time. 
She  had  been  unable  to  resist  the  de- 
light of  harrying  her  mistress  a  little, 
but  she  had  not  expected  this. 

It  seemed  to  Mrs.  Bradney  that  all 
the  world  must  be  looking  at  her  as 
Brazil  swept  up  to  the  church  door  in 
his  proudest  style,  but  she  was  bril- 
liantly calm  as  she  walked  into  the  old 
Bradney  pew.  Laurie  was  necessarily 
in  the  highest  spirits.  Only  at  the  last 
moment  had  she  discovered  that  he 
was  starting  out  with  a  tin  trumpet, 
that  he  might  properly  celebrate  on 
the  way  the  glory  of  driving  to  church 
in  such  style,  and  it  took  her  quite 
three-quarters  of  the  service  to  reduce 
229 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

him  to  anything  like  a  devout  frame  of 
mind. 

After  ten  minutes  of  the  most  de- 
lightful calm,  during  which  she  rejoiced 
to  see  him  actually  listening  to  the 
sermon,  which  was  more  than  she 
could  do  herself,  he  leaned  toward  her 
and  whispered  in  trumpet  tones: 

"What  makes  him  talk  so  long? 
My  legs  ache." 

It  was  not  Mr.  Bell;  it  was  appar- 
ently a  frightened  young  theologue  of 
very  recent  manufacture,  who,  once 
started,  seemed  likely  to  go  on  forever 
from  sheer  inability  to  find  out  how  to 
stop. 

She  heard  suppressed  ripples  in  the 
pews  about  her,  and  by  the  time  the 
benediction  was  finally  arrived  at  she 
felt  herself  on  the  verge  of  nervous 
prostration.  But  the  people  surged 
about  her,  and  though  a  delicate  tact 
was  certainly  not  the  distinguishing 
230 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

feature  of  some  of  them,  she  could  not 
help  being  touched  by  their  real  pleas- 
ure at  having  her  among  them  again. 

After  a  while  she  missed  Laurie,  and 
was  advised  to  look  for  him  in  the 
infant-class  room.  She  sat  down  and 
dreamily  watched  the  mob  of  little  tots 
going  through  their  quaint  exercises, 
until  their  collection-box  was  passed, 
when  she  was  recalled  to  a  very  vivid 
sense  of  the  present  by  hearing  Laurie 
say,  in  his  sturdy  little  voice: 

"No,  Miss  Walker,  I  haven't  got 
any  penny  to-day.  Don't  you  know 
my  poor  papa  has  to  work  very,  very 
hard  for  those  pennies?" 

Mrs.  Bradney  laughed,  but  the 
teacher  looked  grave.  She  was  an 
interesting  young  being,  who  had 
absorbed  one  great  educational  princi- 
ple: never  to  disturb  a  child's  uncon- 
sciousness of  himself  by  so  much  as  a 
smile  at  anything  he  said. 
231 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

But  her  solemnity  was  an  implied 
disgrace,  which  Mrs.  Bradney  found  it 
difficult  to  sustain,  and  she  hurried 
away  to  improve  the  remaining  time 
by  looking  in  on  Mrs.  Bell. 

"Who  preached  to-day?"  she  asked, 
after  she  had  touched  as  lightly  as 
possible  on  her  own  appearance  in 
church. 

"Oh,  that's  the  new  young  pastor 
at  Rose  Park,"  said  Mrs.  Bell;  "and 
he  needs  some  one  to  be  kind  to  him, 
as  you  can  very  well  imagine  if  you 
know  anything  about  the  place.  So 
Mr.  Bell  exchanged  with  him  this 
morning. ' ' 

"Yes;  I  can  imagine  that  Rose  Park 
might  be  pretty  thorny,"  said  Mrs. 
Bradney,  grimly.  "But  I  thought  he 
must  have  just  escaped  from  some 
theological  incubator.  There  seemed 
to  be  a  good  deal  of  shell  still  sticking 
to  his  back. ' ' 

232 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

Mrs.  Bell  laughed.  "But  he's  nice, 
you  know." 

"Oh,  yes,  my  dear.  So  are  fresh 
eggs  and  spring  chickens. ' ' 

"Mrs.  McAlpine  was  at  church, 
too,"  she  went  on  presently.  "The 
first  time  for  four  years,  she  told  me." 

"Poor  thing!  She's  had  a  hard 
life,"  said  Mrs.  Bell,  sympathetically. 

"Well,  there  she  was  this  morning 
in  a  new  'bunnet,'  and  a  new  gown 
and  shoes  and  gloves,  and  she  told  me 
that  gettin'  into  heaven  would  never 
be  any  'graunder'  than  what  she  felt 
when  she  walked  into  church  with  all 
her  new  clothes  on  her  back." 

Mrs.  Bell  looked  up  suddenly.  "But 
how  in  the  world  did  she  get  money 
enough  for  all  this  splurge  so  soon? 
She  told  me  she  would  have  to  wait 
and  see  how  her  garden  did  this  sum- 
mer." 

Mrs.  Bradney  was  excited  by  her 
233 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

morning's  experiences,  otherwise  her 
usually  cool  head  would  have  found  a 
way  out  for  her. 

"Why,  what  I  gave  her — "  then  as 
Mrs.  Bell's  blank  look  gave  way  to  one 
of  scarlet  comprehension — "oh,  my 
dear,  it  was  nothing.  Yes,  you  paid 
her  quite  enough,  but  she's  prudent, 
and  Scotch,  too,  and  diphtheria's  a 
risky  thing  to  nurse.  Oh,  I  am  so 
ashamed  of  myself.  What  was  I  think- 
ing of?  But  she  wouldn't  have  done 
it  for  anybody  else  but  me,  my  dear. 
And  you  had  to  have  the  very  best 
nurse  that  could  be  got,  you  know, 
for  it  was  touch  and  go  with  you  for 
days." 

Mrs.  Bell  looked  at  her  with  glisten- 
ing eyes.  "And  you  let  us  think — " 

"My  dear,  never  mind  what  I  let 
you  think." 

"Oh,  but  I  just  feel  so  overwhelmed 
that  I  don't  know  what  to  do,"  said 
234 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

Mrs.    Bell,    so    mournfully    that   Mrs. 
Bradney  laughed. 

"Well,  you  might  give  me  Laurie 
for  one  thing, ' '  she  said,  lightly.  "I'm 
not  going  to  let  him  come  in  to  see 
you  to-day,  for  after  he  came  back  the 
last  time  he  mourned  for  his  mother, 
as  Mrs.  McAlpine  would  say.  And 
he's  coming  home  anyway  on  Fri- 
day." 

As  they  sat  at  dinner  that  day 
Laurie  suddenly  said : 

"You  never  taught  me  any  script 
of  texture  last  week,  Auntie  Rell." 
His  tone  was  clearly  reproachful. 
"And  it  was  in  the  Gospel  of  George, 
too." 

"That  was  too  bad.  Do  all  the  lit- 
tle boys  and  girls  learn  one,  Laurie?" 

"Yes.      And    I    didn't   have    any. 
And    I    was    so    'shamed    of   myself, 
Auntie   Rell.     So  I  just  said  'Little 
Jack  Horner'  instead." 
235 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

"Oh,  Laurie  Bell!  Think  of  your 
poor  mother,"  groaned  Mrs.  Bradney. 

"Did  you  know  that  this  was  Abra- 
ham's birthday?"  he  asked,  after  he 
had  hurried  an  alarming  amount  of 
food  into  himself. 

"You  mean  Abraham  Lincoln, 
Laurie." 

"Yes,  Auntie  Rell.  That's  what 
teacher  said,  too.  But  he  didn't  kill 
Isaac  after  all.  He  undid  him  and  let 
him  go  free,  because  he  was  black." 

Mrs.  Bradney  wrestled  with  this  sub- 
ject for  some  time,  but  quite  unsuc- 
cessfully, for  Laurie,  having  once 
received  it  into  his  mind  that  Abra- 
ham Patriarch  and  Abraham  Lincoln 
were  one  and  the  same  person,  saw 
no  reason  for  lightly  parting  with  his 
faith.  Miss  Walker's  delicately  spun 
analogies  had  been  sown  upon  too 
eager  ground,  apparently. 

"But  didn't  you  think  it  was  a  very 
236 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

drizzly  sermon  this  morning,   Auntie 
Rell?" 

"Drizzly?  I  don't  know  what  you 
mean  by  that,  Laurie." 

"You  don't?  Why,  doesn't  that 
word  mean  anything  to  you,  Auntie 
Rell?  Listen  now!  Drizzly!  A 
driz — z — z — ly  sermon !" 

"Well,  yes,  Laurie;  I  really  believe 
it  means  a  good  deal,"  said  Mrs. 
Bradney,  laughing.  "In  fact,  in  this 
case  it  strikes  me  as  an  absolutely 
inspired  description. ' ' 

"You  know  there  was  a  nigger  sat 
behind  us,  Auntie  Rell.  He  smelt 
niggerish." 

"Oh,  but  Laurie,  I  don't  think  he 
was  a  colored  man  at  all,  and  besides, 
you  couldn't  smell  him  over  five 
pews." 

"Not    smell    him   over   five   pews, 
Auntie    Rell?      Why,    I    could    smell 
that  niggerish  smell  a  mile." 
237 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

That  afternoon  Mrs.  Bradney  was 
kept  hard  at  work  reading  the  "Pil- 
grim's Progress. ' '  She  did  not  like  it ; 
she  thought  it  very  gory,  but  Laurie 
smacked  his  lips  over  its  most  san- 
guinary details  with  all  the  zest  of  a 
prize-fighter.  Then  she  tried  the 
"Story  of  the  Bible"  for  a  change,  and 
it  amazed  her  to  see  how  unerringly 
the  child  caught  the  moral  of  its 
ancient  histories,  and  what  odd  fancies 
of  his  own  he  wove  among  them. 

"Do  you  know  why  the  Israelites 
were  called  that,  Auntie  Rell?" 

"No." 

"Well,  it  was  because  they  loved 
God  and  had  the  light,  but  the  Mid- 
ianites  and  the  Canaanites  and  the 
Ammonites  were  called  nights  because 
they  were  the  heathen  that  sat  in  dark- 
ness, Auntie  Rell." 

Of  course  the  child  was  a  care  and 
an  anxiety  to  her,  and  he  upset  all  her 
238 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

stated  ways  of  living,  and  she  won- 
dered sometimes  why  she  had  under- 
taken the  charge  of  him  at  all ;  but,  as 
she  often  said  to  Vandelia,  "he  was 
such  a  good  child,"  and  that  sufficed 
for  an  excuse,  which  did  not  hoodwink 
Vandelia  in  the  least,  however.  But 
his  going  back  to  his  mother  was 
something  of  which  she  did  not  encour- 
age herself  to  think. 

The  next  day,  however,  he  was  so 
really  naughty  that  Mrs.  Bradney  went 
away  to  her  room  at  last  with  an  air 
of  offended  majesty,  which  worried 
Laurie  so  much  that  he  was  deter- 
mined she  should  never  suspect  it.  In 
a  few  minutes  she  heard  his  heavy  lit- 
tle feet  tumbling  up  the  stairs  after  her. 
He  flung  open  the  door  and  showed 
himself,  red  and  stamping. 

"You're  a  bad  girl,  Auntie  Rell," 
he  said,  vehemently  —  "a  very  bad 
girl";  and  then  he  quickly  took  the 
239 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

key  out  of  her  door,  and  locked  it  on 
the  other  side. 

For  a  moment  Mrs.  Bradney  stared 
at  the  door  in  blank  amazement  at  this 
audacity.  Then  she  began  to  laugh 
silently,  and  the  more  she  thought 
about  it  the  more  she  laughed. 

"Now  will  you  be  good?"  came  in 
peremptory  demand  from  the  other 
side  of  the  door.  But  there  was  no 
response,  and  after  he  had  asked  the 
question  a  great  many  times  Laurie 
at  last  unlocked  the  door,  impelled 
thereto  by  a  variety  of  emotions.  It 
had  even  occurred  to  him  that  Mrs. 
Bradney  might  be  dead.  So  that 
when  he  discovered  her,  calm  and  se- 
vere as  before,  he  felt  himself  freshly 
insulted. 

"Now  are  you  going  to  be  good?" 
he    stormed,    more    imperiously    than 
before.     "Because    if   you're    not,     I 
shall  have  to  lock  you  up  again." 
240 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

But  suddenly  his  mood  changed,  and 
without  a  hint  of  warning  he  threw 
himself  towards  her,  crying  out : 

"Oh,  Auntie  Rell,  I  so  misabul,  I 
so  misabul!" 

She  gathered  him  tenderly  into  her 
arms,  and  after  a  while  they  talked 
about  it,  and  the  sun  shone  again  in 
Laurie's  darkened  little  heart.  But 
Mrs.  Bradney  could  not  forget  the 
troubled  cry.  She  knew,  too,  what  it 
meant  to  be  so  "misabul." 

After  the  child  had  spent  his  soul  in 
the  joys  of  contrition,  he  studied  Mrs. 
Bradney  for  a  time  in  silence.  At  last 
he  said  with  an  air  of  delicate  restraint : 
"Auntie  Rell,  there's  something  I 
must  talk  to  you  about.  When  Mrs. 
McAlpine  comes  to  see  you  I  wish  you 
wouldn't  send  me  out  of  the  room  to 
see  Vandelia,  'specially  when  you're 
going  to  talk  about  things  you  don't 
want  me  to  hear.  Because,  you  know, 
241 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

there's  nothing  I  want  to  hear  so  badly 
as  what  you  don't  want  me  to  hear, 
of  course." 

Mrs.  Bradney  leaned  back  in  her 
chair  and  began  to  laugh. 

"Well,  Laurie,  I  think  a  great  many 
people  have  felt  just  as  you  do,  but  I 
must  say  I  never  heard  anybody  so 
refreshingly  frank  about  it.  But  there 
isn't  anybody  here  now,  so  you  won't 
miss  anything,  and  you  had  better  run 
out  and  find  Brazil,  for  I  know  he  has 
something  in  the  barn  he  wants  to 
show  you." 

A  few  moments  later  he  rushed 
screaming  into  the  kitchen. 

"Why,  Vandelia,  there's  a  new  kind 
of  a  dog  out  there.  And  it's  lying 
down  just  so  close  to  Snowfoot." 

After  that  he  made  a  trip  to  the 
barn  about  every  third  minute  for  the 
rest  of  the  day. 

"But  Brazil  says  it  isn't  any  sort  of 
242 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

a  dog  at  all,"  he  announced  at  last. 
"He  says  it's  a  calf,  and  that  it  belongs 
to  Snowfoot.  But  what  is  a  calf, 
Vandelia?" 

"Same  thing  as  a  full-grown  man 
lots  of  times,"  said  Vandelia,  grimly; 
"just  about  every  time,  in  fact,  but 
this  particular  calf  will  be  a  cow  one 
of  these  days,  child." 

"Then  I  hope  it'll  be  a  black  one," 
said  Laurie,  fervently.  "Black  cows 
must  give  black  milk,  don't  they,  Van- 
delia?" 

"Well,  I've  seem  some  milk  that 
looked  mighty  like  it  was  raised  by  a 
black  cow,  but  I  don't  know  as  any  of 
'em  advertise  themselves  as  a  specialty 
on  that  line,  Laurie." 

"  'Frank,  Frank,  turned  a  crank, 
His  mother  came  out  and  gave  him  a  spank,"  " 

sang  the  child  gaily.  He  was  in  the 
ecstasy  of  happiness  which  only  the 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

little  one  who  has  been  naughty  and 
been  forgiven  knows  anything  about. 

"Hunh!  You  don't  know  what 
spank  means,"  said  Vandelia,  eying 
him  severely.  "Else  you'd  never 
have  been  such  a  tormenting,  little, 
good-for-nothing,  useless  shape  of  an 
aggravating  boy  as  you've  been  this 
day." 

"Yes,  I  do  know,"  contended 
Laurie.  "It  means,  'Frank,  don't 
you  turn  that  crank  any  more.'  ' 

"Well,  I'm  beat,"  said  Vandelia, 
and  gave  him  a  cooky  to  prove  it. 


244 


CHAPTER  X 

"This  is  the  joy  fullest  day  of  my 
life,  Auntie  Rell.  Know  why?  Why, 
'cause  I'm  going  back  to  my  own  dear 
mamma. " 

Laurie  was  sitting  up  in  his  crib,  a 
little,  pale  blue  night-gowned  figure, 
hugging  itself  in  a  passion  of  prospec- 
tive ecstasy,  his  sweet  face  pink  and 
eager,  his  eyes  deep  with  far-sighted 
yearning  for  his  mother. 

But  his  words  were  like  stabs  to  Mrs. 
Bradney.  After  breakfast  he  flew 
hither  and  yon,  in  breathless  farewell 
to  everything.  He  found  it  hard  to 
part  with  Snowfoot,  but  he  assured 
the  calf  that  if  it  was  good  it  should 
behold  him  again.  He  packed  and 
repacked  his  toys  as  solicitously  as  if 
245 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

they  were  bound  for  the  remotest 
planet,  and  he  finally  capped  the  morn- 
ing's disjointed  performances  by  a 
mood  of  the  tenderest  relenting,  m 
which  he  commissioned  Vandelia  to 
tell  Mary  Pinch  that  most  likely  he 
would  marry  her,  as  perhaps  if  they 
lived  together  long  enough  their  hair 
would  come  to  be  the  same  color. 

"Of  course,  she's  older  than  I  am, 
Vandelia,  but  I  shan't  mind  that,  for 
you  see  she'd  be  able  to  take  such 
good  care  of  me,  then,  when  I'm  a 
man." 

"Land  of  Goshen!"  exclaimed  Van- 
delia. "If  that  ain't  for  all  the  world 
like  all  the  rest  of  the  men.  But  it 
strikes  me  you're  finding  out  pretty 
early  what  a  triflin'  thing  a  man  is 
without  a  woman  to  hold  him  up." 

Mrs.  Bradney  drove  him  home,  but 
she  did  not  go  in  with  him. 

"I  suppose  there  will  be  a  regular 
246 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

scene  when  he  gets  back  to  his 
mother,"  she  thought,  irritably. 

It  did  not  occur  to  her  that  she 
was  jealous.  And  so  Laurie  burst  in 
alone  upon  Mrs.  Bell  like  a  whirling 
dervish. 

"Oh,  mamma,  mamma!  how  I  wish 
you  and  I  had  been  born  on  the  same 
day!"  he  exclaimed,  ecstatically,  as 
soon  as  he  could  find  his  voice. 
"Then  we  could  have  spent  all  our 
lives  just  loving  each  other  all  the 
time.  And  where 's  papa?  Does  he 
know  I've  got  two  cats?  You'll  just 
love  Circe,  mamma.  She's  such  a 
manly  cat,  only  I  don't  think  a  girl  cat 
looks  nice  with  so  many  whiskers.  But 
they're  both  all  full  of  bones  inside, 
plain  bones,  and  round  bones,  and  all 
shapes  of  clapper  bones." 

"Clapper  bones,  Laurie?" 

"Why,  yes.  Don't  you  know, 
mamma?  Auntie  Rell  does.  You 
247 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

get  them  out  of  the  roast  sometimes, 
only  the  man  in  the  store  calls  them 
ribs.  And  you  put  them  between  your 
fingers,  like  this,  and  then  they  make 
— oh,  a  lovely  noise!" 

Laurie  looked  poetic. 

"Esau  and  Circe  gave  a  bone  party 
in  the  back  yard  yesterday.  Not  their 
own  bones,  you  know,  mamma.  The 
chicken-we-had-for-dinner's  bones.  I 
think  about  a  hundred  cats  came. 
But  Auntie  Rell's  a  heathen.  Did 
you  know  it?" 

"Oh,  Laurie,  dear!  You  mustn't 
say  such  things. 

"Oh,  but  she  is,  mamma.  She 
doesn't  say  her  prayers,  because  I 
watched  to  see.  And  I  talked  to  her 
about  that.  And  she  said  she  would. 
She  promised." 

Then  Mrs.  Bell  said  nothing.  It 
seemed  safer  merely  to  think. 

After  Laurie  was  gone  Vandelia 
248 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

wandered  aimlessly  about  the  silent 
rooms,  picking  up  the  last  remnants  of 
his  litter,  about  which  she  had  so  often 
scolded  him.  But  when  she  had 
restored  everything  to  its  immaculate 
formality  again  she  looked  about  her 
angrily. 

"It  ain't  looked  like  this  once  since 
he  came,"  she  muttered.  "Such  a 
tormentin',  restless,  little,  uprootin' 
racket  of  a  chap  I  never  came  across. ' ' 

She  clattered  noisily  upstairs,  the 
house  suddenly  struck  her  as  so  hope- 
lessly still.  Then  she  sat  down  to 
sew,  "in  peace."  But  the  work  was 
fine  and  the  afternoon  growing  dull, 
and  presently  she  threw  it  down  im- 
patiently and  clasped  her  idle  hands 
over  her  knee. 

A  smile  gathered  about  her  stiff  lips. 

"He  certainly  is  the  cutest  child," 
she  whispered,  grudgingly. 

But  she  shook  this  mood  off  sharply. 
249 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

"Come!"  she  said,  briskly.  "Guess 
I'll  make  some  scones  for  supper." 

She  bustled  down  to  the  kitchen, 
as  if  in  great  stress  of  preparation, 
but  after  she  had  surrounded  herself 
with  the  necessary  things  she  pushed 
them  from  her  in  sudden  impatience. 

"Yes,  she'll  eat  one  scone — perhaps 
two,  only  she  never  does.  And  I'll 
eat  two.  And  here's  all  this  fuss  and 
fire  to  bake  four  scones!"  She  shook 
her  fist  at  the  wall.  "I  tell  you  I 
ain't  goin'  to  do  it."  She  slapped 
the  things  back  into  their  places. 
"Seems  somehow  just  as  if  there' d 
been  a  funeral  in  the  house." 

That  was  what  Mrs.  Bradney 
thought  as  Brazil  drove  her  in  lonely 
state  back  to  the  house  on  the  hill. 
She  shivered  as  she  went  in,  and 
instead  of  going  upstairs  at  once  she 
sat  down  in  the  warm  dining-room, 
and  pulled  vaguely  at  her  bonnet 
250 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

strings.  The  room  was  growing  gray 
and  dim;  this  had  been  Laurie's  tired 
time,  when  he  demanded  "cuddling" 
and  a  gory  tale.  She  remembered 
now  with  an  odd  little  pang  her  utter 
surprise  the  first  time  he  had  auda- 
ciously settled  himself  in  her  elegant 
black  silk  lap,  and  calmly  remarked: 
"Now  begin.  Because  if  you  don't, 
the  oh-dearing  time  will  begin,  and 
that's  awful." 

"But  begin  what?  And  what  is 
the  oh-dearing  time?"  she  had  inquired 
in  bewilderment. 

"Why,  it's  when  you  go  like  this 
all  the  time,  Auntie  Rell:  'Oh,  dear! 
What  can  I  do  now?  Oh,  dear!  I  wish 
somebody  would  read  to  me!  Oh, 
dear!'  Like  that — don't  you  see, 
Auntie  Rell?  Mamma  says  it  makes 
her  crazy." 

"Well,  but  what  shall  I  begin?" 
inquired  Mrs.  Bradney,  helplessly. 
25' 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

Stones  had   never  been   much  in  her 
line. 

"Oh,  I  like  the  story  of  Ulysses 
best,  but  perhaps  you  don't  know 
much  about  that?" 

"I'm  afraid  I've  forgotten  some," 
said  Mrs.  Bradney,  anxiously. 

"Well,  Daniel  in  the  lions'  den's  a 
good  one,  only  you've  got  to  make 
the  lions  roar  until  you're  awful  hoarse, 
Auntie  Rell." 

How  ridiculous  she  had  felt  that 
evening,  taking  her  first  lesson  in  story- 
telling from  a  little  child,  and  how 
lonely  she  felt  now !  She  was  still  sit- 
ting there,  dreaming,  when  Vandelia 
came  in  to  set  the  supper-table. 

"Well,  he's  gone,"  she  said  at  last, 
planting  herself  in  front  of  Mrs.  Brad- 
ney; "and  it's  a  good  thing,  too,  isn't 
it?" 

Mrs.  Bradney  looked  at  her  in  dig- 
nified surprise. 

252 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

"You're  glad,  aren't  you?"  per- 
sisted Vandelia,  recklessly.  "Now 
we'll  have  peace  and  quiet  in  this  great 
big  house,  and  lots  of  room  to  spread 
ourselves." 

"Vandelia,  what  is  the  matter  with 
you?" 

Vandelia  eyed  her  unflinchingly. 

"I  heard  something  just  now." 

Mrs.  Bradney  rose  instantly  and 
went  upstairs. 

But  what  had  Vandelia  heard?  The 
question  lay  deep  in  her  heart;  the 
answer  lay  there,  too. 

The  next  day  she  went  down  to 
inquire  for  Mrs.  Bell  and  Laurie.  At 
least  she  admitted  no  other  errand  to 
herself. 

When  she  came  home  Vandelia  hov- 
ered about  her,  eager-eyed,  but  Mrs. 
Bradney  gave  no  sign.  She  toiled 
through  the  long  evening  over  some 
plain  hemming,  which  bore  more 
253 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

resemblance  to  a  severe  attack  of 
hieroglyphics  than  anything  else,  but 
she  was  bound  to  keep  up  appearances, 
especially  to  herself.  She  had  a  des- 
perate feeling  that  she  must  avoid 
admitting  to  herself  what  she  was 
really  all  the  time  thinking  of. 

But  hours  later,  long  after  all  the 
lights  were  out,  and  when  the  lone- 
liness about  her  was  vibrant  with  the 
dark  terrors  of  the  night  she  sat  up 
still,  grappling  with  the  agony  which 
sank  her  soul  in  the  unsounded  deeps 
of  despair. 

As  the  wind  without  rose  from  a 
whistling  wail  into  the  wild  sweep  of  a 
hurricane,  she  cruelly  rehearsed  again 
and  again  the  few  faltering  words  in 
which  Mrs.  Bell  had  told  her  the  news 
about  Hilary. 

"She  is  dreadfully  ill.  They  do  not 
know — " 

Ah!  her  mother's  heart  had  beaten 
254 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

down  all  the  barriers  about  it  then. 
At  that  moment  her  only  thought  had 
been,  how  to  reach  her  child  soonest. 
And  then —  "This  morning  they  tele- 
graphed for  Mrs.  Hessemer.  She  had 
just  ten  minutes  to  catch  the  express. " 

Even  now,  alone  in  the  darkness, 
she  cowered  beneath  the  remembrance 
of  the  words  which  had  cankered  her 
tenderest  impulses  to  the  quivering 
core  of  them.  Mrs.  Hessemer  with 
Hilary!  In  the  place  which  was  hers 
alone!  The  blood  flew  in  scorching 
streaks  through  her  veins  at  the 
thought  of  it. 

She  was  not  a  superstitious  woman, 
but  there  came  a  time  in  that  dark 
night  of  storm  and  destruction  when, 
above  the  screaming  fury  of  the  wind, 
she  heard  Hilary's  voice  in  unending 
entreaty,  "Mother,  mother,  come!" 
They  were  the  last  words  of  the  child's 
letter — that  pathetic,  pleading  letter 
255 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

which  had  come  to  her  weeks  before, 
but  now  they  were  instinct  with  life 
and  terror  for  her.  There !  She  heard 
the  cry  again.  It  was  Hilary.  The 
child  was  dying,  and  she  had  not  gone 
to  her. 

She  sank  down,  helpless  and  moan- 
ing, upon  her  knees,  only  to  start  up 
again  at  a  terrific  crash  outside  in  the 
whirling  nightmare  of  the  storm.  She 
could  bear  it  alone  no  longer,  and 
throwing  open  her  door  she  hurried 
down  the  long  corridor,  past  the  be- 
sieging echoes  of  empty  rooms,  until 
she  reached  Vandelia's  quarters. 

"Vandelia!  Vandelia!" 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  cried  Vandelia, 
wakefully.  "My!  But  I'm  real  glad 
to  see  you.  Come  in,"  she  added, 
with  effusive  hospitality.  "My!  I've 
been  lying  here  near  scared  into  fits.  I 
don't  suppose  there's  a  tree  left  stand- 
ing on  this  place." 
256 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

Mrs.  Bradney  sat  down  quite  calmly. 
Now  that  she  was  within  sound  of  a 
human  voice  the  frantic  terror  which 
had  possessed  her  gave  way  to  reason, 
and  she  was  at  once  her  usual  con- 
trolled self  again,  and  her  suffering 
just  the  cold  agony  of  despair — not  a 
near  dread  of  those  mysterious  forces 
which  had  assailed  her  like  myriad- 
tongued  demons  in  the  lonely  darkness. 

"Yes,  Vandelia.  I  was  afraid  you 
would  be  frightened,"  she  said,  con- 
siderately. 

But  Vandelia  was  not  deceived. 
She  knew  very  well  what  had  brought 
Mrs.  Bradney  to  her  door  that  night. 

"Give  in?  No,  she'll  never  give  in. 
She  ain't  built  that  way,  and  it's  too 
late  to  tear  up  her  foundations  now. 
It'll  take  more  than  a  thunder-storm 
to  move  her.  It'll  require  a  whole 
earthquake  right  under  her  two  feet." 

But  Hilary  did  not  die.  She  got 
257 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

better,  very  slowly,  as  Mrs.  Bell  almost 
unwillingly  admitted  to  Mrs.  Bradney. 
"But  no,  Douglas!  I  won't  tell  her 
one  thing  about  that  baby.  She's  just 
dying  to  know  something.  But  I 
won't.  No,  I  won't!" 

Which  defiant  determination  doubt- 
less led  to  her  saying  the  very  next 
day  to  Mrs.  Bradney: 

"I  think  he  must  be  the  breathing 
image  of  his  mother,  from  all  I  hear." 

"His  mother?  He?  Who?"  fal- 
tered Mrs.  Bradney,  startled  into  un- 
witting speech  by  a  remark  far  more  dis- 
concerting to  her  than  the  unannounced 
appearance  of  a  mad  dog  in  that  peace- 
ful parlor  could  possibly  have  been. 

"Why,  Hilary's  baby,  of  course!" 
exclaimed  Mrs.  Bell,  hardily.  "I  de- 
clare the  little  lords  of  creation  are 
having  it  all  their  own  way  just  now. 
Mrs.  Todd  has  a  little  boy,  and  so  has 
Mrs.  Balkema." 

258 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

And  with  that  she  digressed  cruelly 
into  the  merest  trivialities  of  current 
gossip,  all  the  time  shrewdly  conscious 
of  the  smothered  passion  she  had  so 
skillfully  fired  beneath  that  cold,  calm 
glacier. 

Hilary's  baby!  Hilary's  little  boy! 
A  fair  blue-eyed  darling  tugging  at  her 
heart-strings  day  after  day  with  pink, 
dimpled  fists. 

But  no! 

When,  in  time,  Hugo's  mother  re- 
turned, it  seemed  the  most  natural 
thing  in  the  world  for  Mrs.  Bell  to  call 
on  the  gentle  old  lady,  and  listen  to 
her  pretty  stories  about  the  most 
wonderful  baby  who  had  ever  lived. 

"He's  the  picture  of  mine  Hugo," 
she  said,  proudly.  "But  then  his 
mother — she  is^  one  luffly  young 
maiden." 

It  was  now  that  Mrs.  Bell  became  a 
diplomat  indeed.  For  she  contrived 
259 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

in  the  most  glaringly  innocent  way  to 
let  Mrs.  Bradney  know  that  she  pos- 
sessed mines  of  information  about  that 
baby,  and  gradually,  in  response  to 
the  fierce  craving  which  she  divined 
in  the  proud,  silent  mother  she  fell 
into  the  habit  of  retailing  to  her  every 
little  scrap  of  knowledge  she  had  gath- 
ered. 

"I  just  experimented  this  afternoon, 
Douglas,"  she  said  one  night  to  her 
husband.  "I  talked  of  nothing  but 
Hilary  and  the  baby.  I  told  her  ex- 
actly how  all  his  clothes  are  made,  even 
down  to  how  many  tucks  his  best  dress 
has,  and  she  just  sat  there,  never  say- 
ing one  word  until  I  simply  had  to 
stop  from  sheer  lack  of  imagination. 
If  I  could  have  kept  on,  she'd  be  here 
still." 

"And  yet  she  never  asks  anything 
about  Mrs.  Hessemer  herself?" 

"No,  not  a  thing.  Somehow,  it 
260 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

seems  to  me  she  can't.  She's  just 
dying  to  see  Hilary  and  the  baby,  but 
a  kind  of  paralysis  has  come  over  her. 
Oh,  yes,  you  may  laugh,  but  I  tell  you 
she  has  really  lost  the  power  to  will 
herself  to  do  what  she  wants  to  do 
more  than  anything  else  in  the  world." 

A  few  days  after  this,  as  Mrs.  Brad- 
ney  and  Mrs.  Bell  were  sitting  out  on 
the  veranda  at  Hill  House,  Mrs.  Bell 
said  suddenly: 

"It's  too  bad  that  Hilary's  feeling 
so  miserable  again,  isn't  it?  You  see 
that  baby's  such  a  great,  strong  thing, 
and  will  frolic  by  night  as  well  as  by 
day,  and  she's  got  such  a  wretched 
girl,  so  what  can  you  expect?  I  sup- 
pose she  really  needs  a  change  of  air. 
Oh,  how  lovely  and  fresh  it  is  up  here !" 

The  air  was  sweet  with  the  prodigal 
perfume  of  spring  blossoms,  and  throb- 
bing with  the  exultant  color  of  tulips 
flaunting  in  red  and  yellow  riot  over 
261 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

the  dull  brown  earth.  Snowy  clusters 
of  guelder  roses  starred  the  mingled 
tints  of  the  leaf-green  trees,  and  lilacs 
shook  their  scented  sprays  at  every 
whispering  breeze.  Broad  seed-sown 
acres  and  daisied  meadow,  with  here 
and  there  an  orchard  pink  and  white 
with  harvest  promise,  made  exquisitely 
fair  the  face  of  this  furrowed  field  of 
time.  Far  away,  cresting  the  ragged 
ridge  of  the  hilltop,  three  lonely  pines 
spiked  with  their  slender  spires  the 
blue  eternity  above  them. 

"I  tell  you,"  cried  Mrs.  Bell,  impul- 
sively, "this  is  the  kind  of  thing  that 
Hilary  needs."  A  quiver  passed  over 
Mrs.  Bradney's  face.  How  old  and 
worn  she  looked! 

''If  she  were  anybody  else,  she 
would  be  ill,"  thought  Mrs.  Bell, 
sagely,  as  she  watched  her.  And  then 
a  sudden  inspiring  thought  came  to  the 
little  woman.  It  pursued  her  as  she 
262 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

tripped  down  the  hill  with  Laurie  trot- 
ting beside  her,  with  a  mouth  full  of 
"whats"  and  "whys,"  to  which,  for 
once,  she  paid  no  heed. 

When  she  reached  home  she  broke 
riotously  into  the  study. 

"Oh,  Douglas!  I'm  going  to  write 
to  her.  She  must  come  home — now, 
at  once.  Without  asking,  you  know. 
She  must  just  write  and  say  she's  com- 
ing. Mrs.  Bradney  will  die.  That's 
simply  going  to  be  the  end  of  it  if  she 
doesn't." 

Mr.  Bell  looked  up  slowly  from  his 
half-written  sermon. 

"What?  Who?  Which?  When? 
She  will  and  she  won't.  She'll  be 
dead  if  she  does,  and  she'll  be  dead  if 
she  don't!  Now,  Betty — " 

"Oh,  yes,  you  dear  old  mazy  mind! 

I  suppose  you  don't  know  yet  whether 

it's   Peter  or  Paul  or  James  or  John 

I'm  talking  about.     But  that  doesn't 

263 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

matter.  That  letter's  going  to-night, 
anyway." 

It  went.  Mr.  Bell  held  his  breath 
while  he  read  it,  and  secretly  wondered 
how  much  longer  they  were  likely  to 
be  permitted  to  remain  in  Sand  Har- 
bor if  his  wife  would  insist  upon  manip- 
ulating the  personal  affairs  of  the 
parishioners  in  this  wise. 

"Doesn't  it  seem  to  you,  Betty," 
he  ventured  mildly,  "that  it  reads 
rather  as  if  the  invitation  came  directly 
from  Mrs.  Bradney?" 

"Why,  of  course  it  does,"  rejoined 
his  wife,  heartily.  "That's  just  the 
beauty  of  it.  You  don't  suppose  Mrs. 
Hessemer  would  come  home  if  she  sus- 
pected that  I  had  concocted  the  whole 
scheme  myself,  do  you? 

"Isn't  it  a  little — risky?" 

"Risky?  Well,  I  should  just  think 
so,  Douglas  Bell.  It's  magnificently 
risky.  It's  like  jumping  from  the  top 
264 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

of  the  clock-tower  bang  into  a  basket 
of  eggs,  with  the  distinct  understand- 
ing that  you're  not  to  break  any.  No, 
dear;  of  course  a  man  couldn't  do 
that,  but  a  woman — well,  you'll  see." 

The  letter  was  certainly  a  marvel  of 
strategy.  It  described  Hill  House, 
how  beautiful  the  garden  was  looking, 
how  lonely  Mrs.  Bradney  was,  and 
how  delicate  her  health  was  this  year; 
in  the  middle  of  it  nestled  a  remark  of 
Vandelia's  which  brought  the  tears  in 
a  quick  rush  to  Hilary's  eyes,  and  it 
ended  by  saying:  "Don't  write  your 
mother  a  letter.  That  isn't  what  she 
wants.  Just  send  one  line  with  the 
day  and  the  train,  and  come  at 
once." 

Hilary  took  the  letter  to  her  hus- 
band, and  laid  her  cheek  against  his 
while  he  read  it.  When  he  had  fin- 
ished he  pushed  her  away  from  him 
and  looked  at  her.  Her  eyes  were 
265 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

bright ;  there  was  a  lovely  color  in  her 
thin  face. 

"Why,  my  darling,  you're  better 
already,"  he  exclaimed. 

"But  you,"  she  persisted.  "I 
couldn't  leave  you."  Her  lips 
touched  his  hair. 

"Of  course  you  couldn't.  But  if 
we  were  both  away,  that  would  seem 
different,  wouldn't  it?  You  know, 
last  week  when  they  begged  me  to 
undertake  that  geological  survey  up 
North — such  a  big  chance  for  me, 
dear — I  couldn't  see  how  I  could  go 
just  now,  for  I  couldn't  take  you  and 
the  baby  on  such  a  rough  trip,  and  I 
couldn't  leave  you  here  alone.  And 
mother  is  too  old  now  to  be  kept  on 
the  go  between  here  and  Sand  Har- 
bor. So  I  just  made  up  my  mind  not 
to  say  anything  to  you  about  it,  but 
now  you  see  I  could  go,  and  easily  come 
for  you  on  my  way  back,  perhaps." 
266 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

They  talked  about  it  for  a  long 
time,  but  at  last  it  was  settled,  and 
Hilary  said  with  a  happy  sigh : 

"Of  course,  Hugo,  this  letter  is  just 
as  much  mother's  as  if  she  had  written 
it  herself.  Mrs.  Bell  doesn't  say  so, 
but  I  can  tell.  Why,  she  wouldn't 
dare  to  write  that  letter  if  mother 
hadn't  virtually  asked  her  to.  Moth- 
er's just  too  proud  to  do  it  herself. 
That's  all.  But  do  you  think  I  mind 
that?" 

Three  days  later,  as  Vandelia  was 
busily  ironing  in  the  big,  old-fashioned 
kitchen,  with  its  wide  windows  open  to 
the  fairy  showers  of  the  blossom-bur- 
dened trees,  Mrs.  Bradney  came  in  with 
a  strangely  ceremonious  air,  which  was 
peculiarly  enhanced  by  the  light  in 
her  eyes  and  the  trembling  of  her  lips. 

"Vandelia,  I  expect  Mrs.  Hessemer 
and  the  baby  about  four  o'clock  to- 
morrow afternoon.  I  have  been  very 
267 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

anxious  for  her  to  come  for  some  time, 
and  it  just  happens  that  she  can  leave 
home  most  conveniently  now." 

Vandelia  sat  down  in  a  chair  with 
the  flatiron  in  her  lap.  It  burnt  a 
brown  triangle  in  her  apron,  and  then 
she  got  up  and  plumped  it  down  on 
the  table  with  its  nice  new  oilcloth. 
Then  she  looked  out  of  the  window, 
and  furtively  wiped  her  useful  if  not 
strictly  ornamental  nose.  She  after- 
wards admitted  that  it  was  the  only 
time  in  her  life  when  she  had  known 
what  it  was  to  feel  "real  grovellin' 
pious." 

By  the  middle  of  the  next  morning 
Hill  House  had  taken  on  a  festival  air, 
such  as  it  had  never  worn  before.  For 
Mrs.  Bell  had  casually  dropped  in,  and 
learning,  to  her  great  surprise,  that 
they  were  expecting  Mrs.  Hessemer, 
she  had  kindly  offered  her  services  in 
the  preparations  through  which  Mrs. 
268 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

Bradney  and  Vandelia  were  hurrying. 
She  filled  the  rooms  with  spring  flow- 
ers, and  coaxed  Brazil's  finest  plants 
away  from  him  to  brighten  up  dull 
corners. 

"Well,  you  have  had  to  hurry,  with 
such  a  short  notice,"  she  said,  sym- 
pathetically, to  Vandelia. 

"Hurry!  I  should  say  so.  There's 
been  so  many  different  things  to  do  all 
at  once  that  I  feel  as  if  I'd  been  driven 
from  Dan  to  Beersheba  ever  since  four 
this  morning.  'Vandelia,  we  must 
have  your  rusks  for  supper.  There's 
nothing  Mrs.  Hessemer  used  to  like 
better.'  And,  'Vandelia,  are  you  sure 
the  carpet  in  the  south  room  was  up 
in  the  spring?'  'Oh,  Vandelia,  I  wish 
we'd  sent  those  curtains  to  the  laundry 
this  morning.  They  could  have  had 
them  back  in  time,  under  the  circum- 
stances.' It's  just  been  like  that  all 
the  time.  But  do  you  think  I  mind?" 
269 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

added  Vandelia,  significantly.  "She 
hasn't  looked  like  she  does  to-day, 
not  for  years. ' ' 

A  little  later  in  the  morning  Van- 
delia and  Laurie  collided  violently  in 
one  of  the  upstairs  corridors  as  he  was 
carrying  some  splendid  ox-eyed  daisies 
to  Mrs.  Hessemer's  room. 

"Well,  Vandelia,"  he  remarked  be- 
tween sobs,  as  he  feelingly  rubbed  the 
rising  bump  on  his  head,  "I'd  just 
like  to  know  which  way  you  thought 
you  were  going  then." 

"Which  way,  child?" 

"Yes;  to  Dan  or  Beersheba,  of 
course,"  he  retorted  in  highly  injured 
tones. 

At  last,  when  they  could  all  think 
of  nothing  more  to  do,  they  studied 
the  time-table  over  and  over  again. 

"She'll  get  to  the  Junction  at  two," 
said  Vandelia.  "My!  But  she'll  be 
tired!  And  all  that  bother  there, 
270 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

changing,  with  that  great  baby  in  her 
arms,  too." 

Mrs.  Bell  looked  up  quickly. 

"Why,  there's  a  train  from  here  to 
the  Junction  this  morning.  You'd 
just  have  time  to  catch  it,  Mrs.  Brad- 
ney,  and  then  you  could  help  her 
through  the  very  worst  part  of  her 
journey." 

And  so,  while  they  all  talked  at 
once,  Mrs.  Bell  buttoned  on  her 
shoes,  while  Vandelia  tied  on  her  bon- 
net, and  Laurie  tucked  unheeded  a 
bunch  of  dandelions  into  her  dress. 

"Auntie  Rell,  do  you  know  what  I 
think?"  he  said,  as  he  surveyed  her 
contentedly.  "I  think  you  look  as  if 
you  had  a  kiss  in  your  heart  for  every- 
body this  morning." 

"So  I  have,  child,"  she  said, 
brokenly,  as  she  bent  over  him,  and 
then  she  was  gone. 

But  later,  as  she  paced  restlessly  up 
271 


Little  Lords  .of  Creation 

and  down  the  Junction  platform,  her 
mind  kept  nervously  returning  to  the 
cruel  night  when  she  had  stolen  her 
last  look  at  the  child  who  had  once 
loved  only  her. 

But  when  the  longed-for  train  swept 
into  sight  around  the  curve,  she  re- 
membered only  that  the  moment  of 
her  yearning  hopes  had  come  when  she 
should  welcome  that  child  home  to  her 
heart  once  more. 

"Why,  mother!" 

"There,  there,  Hilary!  Child, 
you'll  wake  him!  Wait,  give  him  to 
me.  You  aren't  fit  to  hold  him. 
Besides,  you've  crumpled  his  ear  inside 
his  bonnet.  You  must  never  do  that. 
It  would  soon  spoil  their  shape." 

"But,  mother—" 

"Why,  of  course,   child.     Did  you 
think  I   was  going  to  let  you   worry 
through   all   this   alone,    after  such  a 
journey  with  a  great  boy  like  this?" 
272 


Little  Lords  of  Creation 

She   feasted   her  eyes  on  him  for  a 
moment.     Then  she  said,  proudly: 
"But  he's  every  inch  a  Bradney." 
And  Hilary  only  laughed. 


273 


PRINTED  BY  R.  R.  DONNELLEY 
AND  SONS  COMPANY  AT  THE 
LAKESIDE  PRESS,  CHICAGO,  ILL. 


A    000121398     2 


